


To The Beat

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Coercion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Prostitution, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was almost four years since Steve Rogers won the games. It was over two years since he’d last come home to the Victor’s Village in their district. Bucky Barnes wasn't the kind of person to let their friendship go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this even came from, but I should warn you it is going to be a dark and unpleasant ride. Well, it's got prostitution as a running theme, so obviously. But yes. Dark fic.
> 
> Originally rooted in Blu prompting 19th century brothel AU, this just sprouted legs and ran, and lo, dark quazi Hunger Games fusion AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, because I'm liking this challenge-myself thing, every chapter of this fic will be exactly 2000 words. No more, no less. Because I like to push myself :)

“Congratulations, Mr Barnes. You’re very lucky. Stevee doesn’t see many people these days.”

Bucky fidgeted where he stood. His family rarely visited the Capitol, but he had good reason for coming back. “Yeah,” he said. “I heard he’s mixing with the upper circles. Must be one hell of a party.”

His escort, a pink-haired girl with scarlet eyes, smiled. “Naturally.” 

The elevator purred to a halt, and the doors opened. They were at the end of a long, polished hallway, and there was a door at the far end. He looked at his guide, who motioned for him to go.

“I don’t have the authorisation to visit,” she said. “You have an hour.”

Bucky nodded, straightening his jacket. When his dad heard he was going to the Capitol, he’d dug out his best suit. It was unfashionable, but it was better than anything Bucky owned. Others from their district provided the shirt and shoes. They all knew why he was going, and that he needed all the help he could get.

The elevator doors closed behind him, and ahead of him, the door was opening.

Beyond it, there was a grand foyer. 

Bucky whistled under his breath as he stepped across the threshold. The place was beautiful, and suddenly, he wondered if coming was a mistake. The Steve he knew wouldn’t have cared about all the glitz, but if his whole world was like this now, maybe he’d changed.

It was almost four years since he’d won the games.

It was over two years since he’d last come home to the Victor’s Village in their district.

The Games always did change people, usually for the worse, even though no one ever talked about it. 

He looked around the lobby and saw an open doorway. He could hear voices through it. One of them was familiar and made his heart leap.

He pushed down the nerves and hurried on into a plush lounge. Two people were there: a red-haired woman in the slinky, revealing clothing popular among the Capitol’s women, and Steve. 

Steve looked almost exactly as Bucky remembered. The only differences were the clothes, so fine they were almost transparent, and the make-up: gold around his eyes with three vertical lines running down his right cheek.

Bucky stopped short when Steve turned his head. He could see the sudden, brief flicker of shock on Steve’s face, the way his eyes widened.

Bucky’s mouth felt dry. “Hey.”

“Someone new, huh?” The red head spread her hand on Steve’s thigh, squeezing. He was still staring at Bucky, but looked at her. The slack, stunned expression vanished from his face, replaced with a smile that was all devil-may-care. He covered the woman’s hand on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he said.

She met his eyes, smiled a cat-like smile, and leaned back. “I’ll leave you boys to play,” she said, rising. She circled Bucky, looking him up and down. “Have fun.”

Bucky couldn’t help turning to watch her go.

Up-close, he’d recognised her, and he’d had to fight the urge to retreat. 

Sure, she was older now, but no one who had seen her in the Games would forget little Tasha, the Black Widow. She was barely thirteen at the reaping, and everyone expected her to be easy pickings. Turned out that she only looked harmless. Most of her victims had been poisoned or electrocuted, and only two of the Careers got anywhere near her before she took them out.

When he turned back to Steve, his friend was on his feet.

The height thing still always threw Bucky. For all of fifteen years, Steve had been smaller, thinner, than him. Now, he was half a head taller, and broader in every which way. He had been since before the games, but it was still jarring. 

“Barnes,” Steve said.

Bucky’s heart sank. “Good to see you, Steve,” he said.

“Most people call me Stevee now,” Steve replied. He was prowling towards Bucky like a predator, and the only reason Bucky wasn’t backing the hell up was because it was Steve. And also because the door was closed behind him. 

Bucky snorted, trying to cover his nervousness. “Yeah, well,” he said, “I always called you Steve.”

Steve loomed over him. “You must have spent a hell of a lot to get all the way from the district,” he said, spreading one hand on Bucky’s chest. “All dressed up too.” His eyes met Bucky’s. “You’re looking good, Barnes.”

Bucky’s mouth felt dry, and his heart was racing. “You haven’t come home in a while,” he said. “People wanted to know you were okay.” I wanted to know you were okay, he added mentally. 

Steve smiled his showman smile, the one he’d put on for interviews. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he said. “I’m living like a King here.”

Bucky felt Steve’s fingers move and looked down. Steve was twisting the buttons of Bucky’s shirt undone one by one, even though his eyes were still fixed on Bucky’s face.

“Steve, what…”

“We both know why you’re here,” Steve murmured. Bucky’s eyes widened in surprised, but before he could speak or move, Steve pressed him back against the door, kissing him and stealing his breath away.

It wasn’t like it used to be, fumbling and awkward and urgent, hoping no one would catch them. Steve knew what he was doing now. One hand was at the back of Bucky’s head, and the other had slipped inside his shirt, his palm warm against Bucky’s ribs. 

Bucky jerked back, startled, gasping. “What the hell, Steve?”

Steve looked at him between his lashes. “You don’t want to?” he challenged, his lips flushed and parted, and god, being fed and healthy was a good look on him. 

“I wanted to see you,” Bucky protested. 

Steve’s fingers curved along his jaw. “So see me,” he said, his face so close, his breath warm on Bucky’s skin. Steve’s lips touched his again, lightly, then moved down. 

Bucky’s head knocked back against the door, as lips and teeth scraped at his throat, then dragged down over his collarbone. Steve’s hands pushed his shirt open, his fingers raking over Bucky’s ribs, and his mouth was on Bucky’s chest, teeth tugging his nipples, and holy shit, Steve was on his knees and his hands were at Bucky’s belt.

They’d fooled around, sure, but Bucky wouldn’t help staring as Steve pulled Bucky’s pants down over his hips, and lowered his head and took Bucky’s cock in his mouth.

This wasn’t what he came for, not at all, but his breathing was all over the place, and his heart was racing, and his hands were in Steve’s hair, letting him do what he was doing. He was gasping out Steve’s name, over and over again. It wasn’t what he came for. It wasn’t. But Steve was looking up through his lashes, and his tongue and his lips and his fingers and…

“Steve, no,” Bucky gasped out, his fingers fisting in Steve’s hair, pulling him up.

Blue eyes met his. There was something off in Steve’s expression, not right. “What do you want, Barnes?” he whispered.

Bucky stared at him. What did he want? He wanted to see him, to know he was all right, not to have him on his knees like that. “Talk to me, buddy,” he panted. “I want to know you’re okay.” He searched Steve’s face. “What do you want, Steve?”

For several seconds, Steve just stared at him, as if he hadn’t been asked in a long time. Finally, he got up, drawing Bucky’s pants up as he rose. “We have an hour,” he said. “I don’t feel like talking.” He wrapped his hand around Bucky’s belt. “Right now, I want you.”

Bucky stared at him. “But I’m just…”

Steve’s other hand was behind his head, and his lips were so close he could taste the words. “You’re just here,” he said. There was challenge in his blue eyes, and something else Bucky couldn’t identify. “You chicken, Barnes?”

Bucky stared at him, then grabbed the front of his flimsy, almost-transparent shirt. “The hell I am,” he said, pulling Steve’s mouth to his. He was pushed back against the door again, and Steve’s hands were at his waist. Steve’s thigh pushed between his, grinding against him.

There was something desperate about it all. His jacket, his shirt, were off on the floor. Steve’s thin blouse ripped under Bucky’s hands. That made Steve laugh, almost like himself, and he stepped back, catching Bucky’s waist, jerking him around, pinning him face-first against the door.

“No damaging the goods, Barnes,” he breathed, plastering himself against Bucky’s back. Bucky could feel the press of Steve’s cock against his backside through their pants, and his hands slid and skittered on the door. 

“God, Steve…” he groaned, as one hand slid down over his hips and into his pants.

Steve’s mouth was at his ear, teeth nipping at his lobe. “What do you want, Barnes?” he whispered, his tongue curling around the shell of Bucky’s ear, making him whimper. “Tell me.”

Bucky knew what he was asking, but he knew what he wanted more. “My name, Steve,” he whispered, pressing back against Steve’s hips. “You know my name.”

Steve’s breath was hot on his neck, panting. He didn’t speak, not at once. His hands moved again, and Bucky’s pants dropped down. Steve’s other hand was at his own waist, and Bucky felt the movement of fabric, felt the press of skin to skin, the heat of Steve’s cock against his backside, rubbing against him. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, so low, so soft, that Bucky almost missed it.

Bucky’s fingers curled against the door, nails scratching at the wood. “Yeah…” he groaned. He pulled one hand from the door, reaching back blindly to grab at Steve’s hip. He felt cool liquid on his skin, something smooth, and knocked his forehead against the door with a yelp as fingers curled inside him. They’d never… he’d never…

“Good?” Steve whispered. It sounded somewhere between prayer and plea.

Bucky nodded as much as he could, spreading his feet, his fingers biting into Steve’s hip. “You,” he whispered demandingly. “You.”

Words went out of the window after that. Steve caught his hips, lifting his ass, and pushed into him slowly, slowly enough to make Bucky’s breathing stutter and his eyes press closed. His fist pounded at the door and he babbled Steve’s name over and over and over. 

Steve didn’t say a word. His face was buried in Bucky’s shoulder, and when he moved, when he started rolling his hips, when his hand curved over Bucky’s hip to find his cock, when he left small, bruising bites the length of Bucky’s throat, every bit of it was making Bucky light-headed and breathless. 

Steve knew what he was doing, Bucky realised as the strokes got deeper and slower. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t urgent. It was deliberate. Steve was making him keen and gasp and babble, and god, he knew what he was doing.

“Good,” Steve finally whispered, his voice trembling, as his hand tightened on Bucky’s cock. “Good, Buck.” His mouth was gentle on Bucky’s throat, kissing, not biting now. He shifted his hips, pushed deep, lifting Bucky onto his toes, as his hand squeezed, and Bucky almost busted his hand, slamming it against the door.

When he was done, Steve halfway carried him over to the couch and laid him down.

He still had more than half an hour, but he was boneless and sated, and he didn’t even notice Steve quietly leaving the room. He returned and cleaned Bucky up ten minutes later, helped him redress, and they shared a cup of sweet Capitol tea. Steve even almost smiled.

It wasn’t until the door chimed, to let him know his escort had return that he noticed the cum still spattered on the door that he realised that Steve had got nothing out of the encounter. By the time he realised, Steve had already slipped away through another door.


	2. Chapter 2

The shower was so hot it turned Steve’s skin red. He stood beneath the jets, his eyes closed, and let the water sluice down his body. He’d already had a cold shower, after he’d practically fucked Bucky senseless. That was the one rule he’d laid down for himself, unless it was specifically asked of him, and he wasn’t about to break it, even for Buck.

He wasn’t surprised to find Tasha waiting for him in the pool room. They had a shared set of bathing rooms, enough for a dozen people, and she was sitting on the edge of the tub, her feet dangling into the water. The lights in the bottom of the pool were changing colours, and she was watching them.

“Hey,” she said, without turning.

Steve walked down the steps towards the pool that was too big to be a bath, but too small to be any damned use for anything but sitting in. He dropped the towel from his waist and waded down into the water, sitting on one of the steps. “Anything from upstairs?” he asked.

She shook her head, swinging her legs. The ripples spread out from her feet. “New guy went away happy?”

“Looks that way,” Steve replied, raising his eyes to hers. “Musta saved up a lot to get an hour up here.”

“From the sticks too,” she observed. She slipped out of the robe she was wearing, and slid down into the tub. They could have sat at opposite ends without coming close to touching, but she waded to him, and set herself down beside him. Beneath the water, her hand brushed his thigh.

“Knew him from my district,” he said. “We fooled around back then. Guess he wanted to see what screwing a victor was like.”

Her fingers tightened briefly on his thigh in sympathy. “Guess we won’t see him again.”

Steve didn’t want to think about it. 

From the looks of things, Bucky had no idea what Steve was stuck doing in the Capitol, and Steve really didn’t want Bucky to find out. It wasn’t that he was ashamed. It was that he was pissed about it, and trapped in it, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop it.

Bucky had come out of concern, and Steve had handled him the way he handled everyone else. The difference was that he wanted to handle Buck. He’d come so damn close to breaking his only rule, closing his eyes and pretending he was anywhere but there, like they were back home, in the lumber shed behind Bucky’s folks’ house.

It was the first time anyone who wasn’t from the Capitol had gained access to Steve’s suite since Peggy’s dismissal, months earlier. They kept him there as their show-whore in a gilded cage, locked in with threats. They kept him in check that way.

The fact they’d let someone from home, and a friend to boot, come and visit made him sick to the stomach. He must have been pissing them off again. They were making a point. They could let Bucky think he was buying his way in, when all he was doing was underlining the fact Bucky’s life – all the lives of the people in district eleven – were controlled, as ever, by the Capitol.

“They’ll let him come back,” he said with certainty. “If he can pay again.”

That was how they had to speak to each other now, in careful dances of words. Tasha understood. Tasha was in the same boat as he was. A different set of rules in place for her, but they were watched, listened to, monitored, tagged like goddamned animals. 

“People always find a way to pay,” she said, the nudged his arm. “Down a step, Stevee. Your shoulders are knots.”

He slid down and let her settle behind him. Her hands were small but strong, and he knew for a fact that she had snapped a man’s neck with them before. 

Once, when things were bad, when she cleaned up the blood, she’d put her fingers around his neck, met his eyes, and raised her eyebrows. She could have tried. He might have let her, if his life had been his to take. Anything he did or had done would have an effect and counter-effect on the people of his district. His death could lead to much worse.

Now, she didn’t offer and he didn’t ask. She just kneaded the knots in his shoulders, and he leaned back into her. He had his district, but she only had him. He couldn’t imagine what that was like.

Sometimes, they would drift apart after bathing, but sometimes – like this time – he took her by the hand, and they both went to his bedroom. Not the glitzy room where he would entertain, but the smaller, plainer room with a few art supplies and his bed. It was basic and it was comfortable, and they curled together under soft sheets and warm blankets.

She nestled close, facing him, and drew her fingertips down the three gold lines tattooed down his right cheek. “You going to have trouble sleeping tonight?” she murmured.

Steve thought of Bucky, of his cautious smiles and his concern. He’d tried to play the Capitol’s dummy, in hopes that Bucky would believe he was all right. He hoped it would take. He suspected it wouldn’t. Bucky knew him too well. Always had. And he knew what happened to people who the Capitol saw as leverage.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. 

Tasha shifted onto her back, and drew his head down to her shoulder, running her fingers through his still-damp hair. “I’ll stay, then,” she murmured, then snapped her fingers to shut off the lights.

Every night, for the next week, she slept in beside him. 

When the nightmares came, she was there. He didn’t know if she had nightmares. If she did, she never said. She never said much about where she came from, but someone who could kill without hesitation or mercy at the age of thirteen had to have something unhappy in her past.

They were ordered out a couple of times, to show their faces in the upper echelons of Capitol society. Their stylists dressed them perfectly. Their attendants made sure they knew who to speak to. Their handlers made sure they didn’t try to do something stupid and reckless, no matter how tempting it was.

They’d learned the hard way that trying to act resulted in bloodshed. Not their own. Never their own. A threshing incident in Steve’s district had followed his last bout of insubordination. Four dead, two maimed, in violent and bloody ways. 

President Pierce sat behind his desk as he told Steve, smiling his placid, benign smile. 

An accident, he said. Mishandling of equipment. It would be terrible if such a thing happened again, especially so near the harvest. Two of them were fathers as well. Those poor children.

So they complied. They smiled for the cameras. They flirted where they had to.

When he could, Steve slipped out onto the balcony to get some air. Brock Rumlow found him there. He was one of Pierce’s up-and-coming stars, ruthless and wilful and exactly the kind of person Steve hated. He also had a liking for Steve, especially when he could get him on his knees.

“Hey, Stevee.”

Steve braced his hands on the rail of the balcony and didn’t turn. “Brock,” he murmured. “Great party, isn’t it?”

“You see one, you’ve seen ‘em all,” Brock said dismissively. He came closer and Steve curled his hands into fists when Brock’s hand ran down the length of his back. “You, though… haven’t seen you out for a while. Stevee. You’re looking good.”

Steve snorted under his breath. He was looking the part: a whore dressed up to entice fresh clients.

“And I’m meant to be circulating,” he said, stepping out from under Brock’s hand. He managed his staged smile, the one that never quite reached his eyes. “You want time alone with me, you’ll need to speak to President Pierce.”

Brock’s hand closed around his arm. “I already did,” he said, smiling darkly. “You ready to entertain me, Stevee?”

Steve stared at him blankly. President Pierce used him to reward people. Brock was always in there, but Steve was only ever given to him as a rare show of favour. Steve was always notified, because clients had preferences, and he needed time to prepare. 

“Not here,” he said, pulling his arm free. “My place, another time. I have to work.”

Brock was suddenly in front of him, and his hand caught Steve by the throat. “What the hell do you think I’m asking you for, Rogers?” Brock said with a snort of derision. “You think I want your whore palace?” He squeezed. “I want you to suck me off here and now.”

Steve’s hands were fists. “You’d have to provide the President’s written approval,” he said, baring his teeth. “Get your hands off the merchandise.”

Brock tightened his grip, trying to force Steve to his knees. “I’m not playing, Stevee. What the hell kind of difference does it make? Here or there, you’re still nothing but a fucking whore.”

Steve always did have a problem with his temper.

That was why he swung his fist. That was why Brock ended up flat on his back on the tiles of the balcony, blood spurting from his nose. That was why Steve’s handlers were suddenly crowding in on the balcony, a human wall between him and the crowd.

“Gentlemen.” He heard President Pierce’s voice.

There was blood on his hands. Blood of one of the President’s men, and that was never going to end well. He rubbed it with his opposite palm, breathing too hard. It felt like his chest was tight, like it used to get before their experiments twisted his body into something new.

The wall of handlers opened, and Pierce stepped between them.

He didn’t look like anything special, an older gentleman in a fine suit. He had to be at least seventy, and he always smiled a gentle, placid smile that Steve had come to hate more than anything else in the Capitol.

His pale eyes flicked down to Rumlow, who was cursing and spitting, blood all down his front, then Pierce looked at Steve.

“Is there a problem here, Mr Rogers?” he said mildly.

Steve straightened his back, and met the man’s eyes. “I received no notification of an appointment with Rumlow,” he said, keeping his tone as formal as possible. “If I’m expected to service your people in public places with the media present, I would appreciate prior notification.”

From the irritated look in Pierce’s eyes, Rumlow had made no plans. “I see,” he murmured. “We will ensure that your client list is kept up-to-date.” 

“The fucking bastard hit me!” Brock snarled, staggering to his feet.

Pierce looked at him placidly, then backhanded him so sharply that Rumlow stumbled, startled. 

“Don’t presume to take gifts that have not been given to you, Rumlow,” he said. He looked back at Steve. “You were correct in your assessment, Rogers,” he said. “Unfortunately, you have also damaged a member of my staff.”

Steve’s fingers were biting into his palms. He could feel his nails cutting into the skin. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Quite so,” Pierce said, still smiling, “but all the same, I can’t have you bloodying my staff.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped Rumlow’s blood from his hand. “I’m disappointed, Rogers. You’ve been doing reasonably well lately.” He tutted, shaking his head. “One step forward, two steps back.” He waved in the handlers, who caught Steve by the arms. “Take him to Zola.”

“Sir!”

Pierce looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “Do you want to dig a deeper hole for yourself?” he said. “Or for anyone else?”

Steve wished he could reached out and sink his fist into the man’s face. 

Instead, he just let them lead him away.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was on the news reels from the Capitol.

In his parents’ living room, Bucky yelled everyone into silence, as the report stated that the elusive victor, Stevee Rogers, had been seen attending a party in the Capitol’s golden circle. The footage was brief, but Steve was smiling, talking animatedly to people.

“He looks well,” Bucky’s mother said.

“Bullshit,” Becks said. She was sitting on the floor, working on her sickle with a whetstone. 

“Rebecca,” their mother snapped.

Becks looked up at her. “Look at him, mom,” she said. “Really look. Don’t look at the clothes or hair or all the shit they covered him in.”

Bucky didn’t turn, but he heard his mother draw a breath, as she saw what he and Becks saw: Steve Rogers was as far from happy as it was possible to be. Sure, he smiled for the cameras, but anyone who’d ever spent time with him could tell when he was forcing it, and he was.

“You said he was well,” his mother said quietly.

“Physically,” Bucky said, his voice just as low. He couldn’t look away from the screen. He saw a glimpse of red hair as well. Tasha was with him. He wrapped his hands around one another, watching intently. 

Steve’s behaviour had caught him off-guard. It was meant to distract him, that much he’d worked out, and he’d spent days trying to figure out what the hell he could do. He couldn’t afford to go back, not so soon, and if he did, he didn’t know if Steve would react the same way again. He always tried to stop people seeing when he was having a hard time, but Bucky could always tell. He’d known him for too long not to.

As soon as the report was done, he got up.

“I need to go and see Carter,” he said.

Becks looked up, startled. “Buck, you know she’s not in a good way.”

Bucky nodded unhappily. “I know,” he said, “but she’s the only other person who’s seen Steve in the last three years.” He glanced at the clock. “Can I take her some of the leftovers, mom?”

His mother sighed. “Bucky, she won’t be able to help.”

“I still have to try,” he said.

In the end, his mother packaged up two portions of food that would be soft enough for the old lady, and Bucky headed out. It was warm, and a light rain was falling, as he headed in the direction of the Victor’s Village.

There were a dozen houses, but only four of them had ever been occupied. Only one was now. Another was Steve’s, but he’d only stayed there briefly in the two years after his victory in the games. The other two victors had both died, one from drink, one dangling from a tree at the end of his garden the day his victory tour was due to start.

Peggy Carter had the one at the far end of the complex. It had been hers a long time, long enough for her to leave her mark: red roses around the door, and deadly nightshade around the windows. It had been given a fresh coat of paint for her return from the Capitol, months before. She’d come back in a stretcher, frail and weak. A couple of the local girls looked after her now, but they said she wasn’t the Carter everyone knew anymore. It was either a stroke or a fit, and she didn’t seem to remember so well.

Still, she was the only person who had seen Steve, and Bucky knew she was the only person who could know what he knew.

The light was on in the lower window. She couldn’t climb the stairs anymore, Bucky remembered. Becks had helped with her once, and said she could barely even stand enough to get to the bathroom. They all remembered Carter. They all remembered how tough she was. She’d been their greatest victor in forty years, and now, her own body had beaten her.

He knocked on the door before entering, calling out, “Hey, Miss Carter! It’s me! Bucky Barnes!” The lobby of the house was neat, and he could see the light from under the door of the main room. He pushed the door open a crack. “Is it okay if I come in?”

It was never good to sneak in on a Victor. Steve had decked him once when Bucky had caught him by surprise after the games. It was safer to let them know you were there.

“Yes, yes,” she murmured. “Come in, Barnes.”

He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him. Peggy was tucked up on a chaise, wrapped in blankets despite the autumn warmth. Her television was on, but the control was in her hand and the sound was off. Steve was on the screen again. Bucky wasn’t surprised. 

Long before the games, Steve had been one of her students in the district. She’d ended up as Steve’s mentor during his games, and even afterwards, their relationship was one of legend, until she got ill. 

“I brought you some food,” he said. “Mom had leftovers.”

She looked at him, her dark eyes on his face. “I hear you had a little trip,” she said, motioning him closer with one thin hand. 

Bucky approached, sitting on the chair beside the chaise. “Yeah,” he said. “We got enough together so I could go and visit.”

“Enough,” she said, folding her hands together. “Indeed.” She was watching him too closely. “How did you find our Steve, Barnes? Was he well?”

Bucky hesitated.

“Ah,” she murmured, nodding. “You know him well enough to see it, then.” She motioned to the television. “Seems to be enjoying himself, doesn’t he?”

Bucky looked at the screen, his heart sinking. If she couldn’t tell anymore, then his mother was right. Coming over was pointless. “He’s a victor,” he said blankly. “I guess he likes the lifestyle.”

“Does he.” It wasn’t a question. “Then tell me, Barnes, why come here?”

Bucky looked at her, wary. “I wanted to bring you some food.”

“Something happened when you were there,” she said, her tone changing so subtly that he was caught off-guard. She was too alert for someone who was meant to be confused with age and illness. “Tell me.” 

He felt the heat crawl up his face and looked down at the box in his hands. “He has a nice place," he said. "He looked good." He shrugged. "I shouldn't have gone. I'm not part of that world."

“Of course you should have,” she said, and her voice was the Carter he remembered. “Let’s talk of Stevee, shall we? He’s loyal to the Capitol, likes it so much there that he stays rather than coming back here. He looks well, dressed by them, doesn’t he? He’s in his element there, their golden boy.”

“Bullshit!” Bucky exclaimed. “Steve’s not one for any of that. He hates it!”

Her eyes held his. “Yes,” she said, nodding approvingly. “And something happened when you were there. Something that made you come here.”

Bucky felt like a kid in front of a Peace Keeper. “Nothing,” he lied. “We just… it was…” He felt his cheeks burning. 

“Sex,” she said quietly. “He seduced you.”

“No!”

“Yes,” she murmured. “No need to be ashamed.”

Bucky stared at her. “Why would…” He didn’t need to ask the question. He already knew the answer: Steve was distracting him from the real matter at hand. Steve, who – as far as he knew – hadn’t slept with anyone, used sex as a distraction. He didn’t take any pleasure from it. It was a… task.

Bucky felt sick.

“He didn’t want to talk,” he said. “He told me that. Then he… I…” He ducked his head. “We used to fool around,” he said unhappily. “It wasn’t anything we didn’t want to do before.” His hands were shivering. “He wanted to stop me talking real bad, huh?”

Carter nodded, closing her eyes briefly. “Yes and no,” she murmured. “Words are weapons in the Capitol. People are too, especially if there is an emotional tie. Bargaining chips. Leverage.” Her eyes opened and she looked at him. “Collateral.”

“And screwing me helped how?” Bucky snapped. “That’s emotional!”

Carter looked at him with pity. “In some part, because it was you, yes,” she said, “but not when it’s his job there.”

Bucky got as far as the trash can before he was sick. He braced his hand in the wall, staring blindly into nothing, his mouth bitter with bile. “No,” he said. Carter didn’t say anything, and he had to turn to look at her. She was studying her hands in her lap, her lined face drawn. “No,” he repeated. “Steve wouldn’t… they couldn’t make him do… he wouldn't...”

She raised her eyes to his. “Wouldn’t place the value of a single child in his district over his own life?” she said. “Wouldn’t place the value of his friends over indignities done to his own body?” She shook her head. “Come now, Barnes. You know Steve.”

He sat down heavily beside the trash can, staring at her. “Why are you telling me this?”

Her smile was brief and sad. “Because someone else finally noticed what's there,” she said. She drew herself upright, looking right at him. “Our boy is in a gilded cage. We are the bars that are holding him."

She pushed back the blankets and rose, going to the mantle. She didn't move like someone sick or weak. She groped up the chimney and returned, sitting down, a box in her lap. She noticed Bucky was gaping at her.

"What is it?"

"Everyone thinks you're sick," he said.

"And so they will continue to do so," she said, opening the box in her lap. "Tell me, Mr Barnes, what would you do to get Steve out of the Capitol?"

His heart was thundering against his ribs as he came back over to the chaise. "It's the Capitol," he said. "We can't get him out of there."

"Not at once," Carter murmured, holding out one hand, "but we have time."

In her palm, there was a metal disc, smaller than her palm. Bucky recognised it. It was a replica of Steve's weapon of choice in the arena: a sifting plate layered with metal that he hammered into a shield. It even had the star that was on the original plate metal that Steve had ripped off the side of the cornucopia.

Bucky reached out, touching the metal.

It really said everything about Steve that his weapon of choice was a shield.

"Take it," Carter said. "Next time you go to the Capitol, wear it somewhere visible."

"They have these everywhere," he said. Steve was an icon. Wearing his pin was a fashion-statement. 

Carter smiled quietly. "Not quite," she said. "They made him design it." She flipped the pin over. Steve's initials were etched in the metal. "This is his prototype." She met his eyes. "He'll know you've spoken to me."

Bucky let her tip the pin into his hand. "But how am I meant to get back there?" he asked. "We scraped together everything we had for one shot."

She gave him a pitying look. "The money isn't what opened the doors," she said. She closed his hand around the pin. "You showed you had ties to him when you contacted them. That makes you useful. You'll be back there sooner than you think."

He shook his head in incomprehension. "What use could I be?"

Carter shook her head slowly. "Really, Barnes, use your brain," she said. "If he would throw himself into the games to save a child, what would he do to protect his oldest friend?"

Bucky stared at her in dismay. "No. I can't go back. Not if they're going to use me to hurt him."

Carter sighed, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. "It's too late for that, my dear boy," she said. "The pieces are already in play."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has to come with epic warning - there is implicit torture, violence, sexual coercion, dubious consent, blackmail. This is the darkest chapter to date.

There were some in Pierce’s coterie that liked to visit Steve when he was quiet.

It didn’t surprise him. Pierce always expected him to play his part, but sometimes, Steve got angry and spoke his mind, and those were problematic times. So Pierce took away the problem. It was a simple threat, and it should have worked, but sometimes, Steve’s temper overruled his tongue.

He rubbed at his throat again.

There were useful things about being genetically modified. His build and physique were better than they’d ever been when he was a kid. There was the stamina, which was useful. And the fact he could heal pretty much any wound. Yeah, it sometimes took a while, but say they cut into his voice box, temporarily turning him into an avox, they would have maybe a fortnight before he could speak again.

Those were the times when Pierce handed him out like a treat to those more selective people who didn’t want to hear views and opinions.

The mark on his skin had already faded, but it would be days yet before he could talk again.

Tasha tapped on his door. She always did before entering, and he returned the favour.

“How is it?” she asked, leaning against the frame.

He turned to her, making a series of short gestures with his hands. Before his enhancements, his hearing occasionally had been so bad in winter that sign language had sometimes been necessary. Now, it was useful.

She winced in sympathy, coming over to him. “Here,” she murmured, holding out her hand. “It’s not much.” She had a small sachet of morphling, enough to numb the ache in his throat for a few hours at least. “You’re to expect company in two hours.”

Steve grimaced, turning away.

Tasha didn’t say anything. She just brushed her fingertips along his shoulders and slipped away, leaving the packet of morphling on the edge of the sink.

Steve looked at it. It would help, he knew, even if he didn’t want to think about it.

There was a briefing pack waiting for him on his bed. It was apparently a new client by the name of Strucker. The name brought Steve up short. He recognised it, and from the rumours he’d heard, Strucker wasn’t the kind of person to get on the wrong side of. 

There were no details of preferences or specific tastes, so Steve picked out neutral clothing, painted his golden lines around his eyes and picked up the sachet of morphling. Regardless of what Strucker wanted, his throat was hurting, and the contents of the sachet would be enough to dull it for at least the two hour allocated time-slot.

By the time he emerged into the grand living room, he was already feeling the effects. 

Tasha was curled up on the couch too. Steve raised his eyebrows.

“I got briefed too,” she murmured.

It occasionally happened, as it had with Bucky: both of them were briefed, and the client would usually choose based on gender or personal preference. Most clients had a liking for one of them in particular, but new clients were always… tricky.

He sat down beside her, offering her his hand. She threaded her fingers briefly through his, smiled the quiet smile reserved for no one but him, and nodded.

When the doors opened, they settled back in their usual positions, only this time Tasha had to be talking and laughing for both of them.

Both of them turned as one to see who their newest guest was.

The man standing there was thin, angular, leaning on a walking cane. He had glass implants over his eyes in place of spectacles, and tattoos on his face. It wasn’t uncommon in the Capitol. Steve could see well enough that he noticed the scars hidden beneath the ink. Strucker didn’t look like anything special, and didn’t immediately speak, looking from one of them to the other.

Tasha laid her hand on Steve’s thigh, a silent offer that she could deal with this one. He brushed her hand away, wordless assent that if she wanted to take point, this one was hers.

She uncurled from the couch like a wisp of smoke. “Hey,” she said. “We heard we were having company.” Her hips swayed and her voice was the sultry purr she had perfected. “How about we get rid of the knuckle-head and you and I can talk?”

The man said nothing, but his backhand was so vicious and so unexpected that he caught Tasha off-guard. She spun, staggering, and Steve was on his feet, moving towards the man. Strucker’s cane swung up to press against Steve’s chest. The tip was a needle-sharp point.

“I did not come to be played with,” he murmured. “I am here to be entertained.”

Steve could see blood blooming on the pale fabric of his shirt. Tasha was picking herself up, wary now, blood on her lip.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Dark eyes looked at her. “You were both impressive in your games,” Strucker said. “I want to see how you would deal with one another.”

Steve and Tasha exchanged uneasy looks.

“That’s not in our remit,” she said.

If he hadn’t been holding a blade at Steve’s chest, Steve could see he would have hit her again.

“President Pierce,” Strucker said, “informed me that you need to learn to respect your betters.” He smiled thinly. “If you entertain me well enough, I am told that we will not be required to conclude this meeting the same way the games are concluded.”

Steve’s litany of profanities were muted by his torn up voicebox, but it didn’t take a genius to work out what he would have been saying if he could. The tip of Strucker’s cane pressed harder and even the morphling couldn’t dull the sudden, sharp pain.

Tasha was by his side suddenly, her hand around his forearm. “We can do that,” she said, staring defiantly at Strucker. “You want entertainment, we’ll entertain.”

Strucker’s smile was thin and unpleasant. “Good.”

In the complex of rooms they occupied, there was a gymnasium. That was to be their battle ground. There were no weapons but the tools they had to hand. Steve knew he had the physical advantage, but Tasha was fast and stealthy. It would be one hell of a fight, and he had no doubt that some collectors would greedily snap up copies of the video feeds.

Strucker sat in a chair close to the door, watching indifferently as they shed their professional clothing and pulled on their gym gear. When they started sparring, they started soft, but Strucker sighed impatiently and pulled out pistol.

“Do I need to make the conditions of this arrangement any clearer?”

Tasha was ashen, and she looked at Steve. “Don’t hold back,” she whispered. Steve stared at her. They both knew he could take her head off if he hit her at full-strength. Her fingers tightened on his wrist, and she met his eyes. “I won’t if you won’t. I don’t wanna die today.”

He nodded.

They fought.

It was brutal and it was bloody and it was with every skill they had both learned in and out of the arenas. Tasha was even better than he’d realised. Years in the Capitol had taken someone small and deadly and honed her to razor-sharpness. 

He only won because of his stamina, bringing her down on her back on the floor, her fingers scrabbling at his arms. She bit down on a sharp cry, and he knew why. The implant on her spine, her control. He pinned her there with his own body, searching her face for some sign she was okay. Her tongue touched her parted lips, and her pupils were wide in pain.

“Good,” Strucker murmured. “Now, fuck her.”

Steve looked at the man in disgust. He started to push back from Tasha, but Tasha’s hand on his arm tightened. He looked down at her. Her expression was tense, but she jerked her chin.

He’d never touched her like that, no matter what the media reports said. His lips drew back from his teeth. Tasha’s nails sank into his shoulder. Her hips lifted against his. Offer. Assurance. Confirmation that she consented.

“Now, Rogers,” Strucker said. Metal clicked on metal, the sound of his gun being cocked.

Tasha’s eyes were fixed on Steve. “I don’t want to die today,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to die today.”

Hating Strucker, Pierce, the Capitol, all of it, Steve nodded. 

Throughout the whole thing, Strucker directed them, ordered more violence, less pleasure, less kindness, more force. For the audience, Steve realised, sickened. Tasha was tough, but even Steve could see it was worse than the beating for her.

They were only permitted to stop when Strucker deemed it so. He rose without another word and left the room, leaving them on the floor. 

Tasha was shivering, even though she wasn’t making a sound. With effort, Steve staggered up on shaking legs and managed to scoop her up in his bruised arms. She clung to him, her fingers biting into his shoulders, digging into the scratches left by her nails.

He carried her through to the bathing room, and uncaring of any of the scraps of clothing they had left on, walked straight down into the pool. The water was hot and scented with oil. He would rather have had a lukewarm tub of dirty water in his shack in his district. It would have felt cleaner.

Tasha winced when he set her down on the step. He wasn’t surprised. She was covered in bruises, and would be worse within a couple of hours. 

As gently as he could, he helped her out of the rest of her ruined clothes. She was still trembling as he scooped water up in his hands and poured it over her sweat- and blood-matted hair. He washed the worst of it away, keeping his touches as careful and clinical as he could.

Her hand brushed his thigh beneath the water. It was habitual and it was comfort, but he flinched all the same. 

“Steve,” she whispered.

He forced himself to look at her. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

She moved closer to him. “Can I touch you?” she asked.

He nodded, and she curled against his side, warm, wet arms wrapping around his middle, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. 

“This wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “Don’t ever think it was.”

He looked down at her beaten body through the clear water. Maybe he’d been ordered to do it, but he’d still done it. He should have walked onto that fucking blade when it was against his chest. 

Her dripping hand touched his cheek and made him lift his head, meet her eyes. “If you got yourself killed, you know they would have taken it out on everyone else in your district,” she whispered. “You saved our lives. That’s what these marks are. We saved our lives and the lives of other people.” Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. “It was only some sex. I’m glad it was you and not him.”

Steve stared at her, then wrapped his arms around her, lifting her into his lap. Her arms went around his neck as he buried his face in her shoulder, her fingers in his hair and rubbing down over his neck and shoulders.

“I keep forgetting,” she whispered, “how new this is to you.” She pressed her lips to his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw. “I’ve had worse.”

That didn’t make it any better, knowing she had suffered the same for so many years.

He drew back, searching her face, lifting a hand to brush her wet hair back from her cheek. Her lip was split in two places, cracking and bleeding when she tried to smile again.

He tried to sign that one day, they would get out.

She covered his hands with hers, shook her head. “No lies.”


	5. Chapter 5

Carter was right.

Bucky got home from the fields one hot afternoon, and to his surprise, his mother opened the door for him. She was white as a sheet, and beckoned him in hastily, dusting at his clothes to get the worst of the dirt off them.

“What’s wrong, mom?” he asked in an undertone.

“We have visitors, Buchanan,” she said, meeting his eyes. “You need to look your best.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. For his mother to be this nervous, it could only mean one thing: people from the Capitol had come to the district. He looked at himself in the mirror on the wall. He was sweat-stained and filthy, but he had a feeling they wouldn’t be happy to be kept waiting.

“Where are they?” he asked.

She nodded nervously through to the room at the front of the house. He squeezed her hand, then straightened his back and walked in. 

The woman who greeted him was almost the same age as his mother, but they couldn’t have looked more different if they tried. 

His mother was small and soft, but the woman in front of him stood rigid and tall, thin as a wire, her features so sharp they might have been cut by blades. Her hair was jet black with fine strands of gold and silver, twisted into an elaborate Capitol hairstyle, and her lips and eye make-up matched it. She wore a suit that was all sharp edges and lines.

Dangerous was the first thing that came to mind when he looked at her.

“Good afternoon, Mr Barnes,” she said, and her voice was a counterpoint to her appearance, smooth and warm.

“Ma’am.”

She unfurled one hand, motioned for him to sit, and once he sat gingerly on the edge of the couch, she sat down facing him, folding her hands in her lap. “I have some very exciting news for you, Mr Barnes,” she said, smiling. “You have been selected to visit the victor from your district.”

Bucky clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. “Steve? I mean, Stevee?”

“Indeed,” she said. “The Capitol admires your loyalty, and when you made such a long journey to visit him, off your own back, they felt you should be rewarded.” Her teeth were terrifyingly white and perfect. “This time, you’ll travel first class with all the luxuries the Capitol can provide for you.”

He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help asking, “Couldn’t Stevee come home? I mean, to the district? Just for a while? We’ve kept the Victor’s Village looking good. It… I know it’s not the Capitol, but it’s not bad.”

The woman inclined her head. “Stevee has many obligations to attend to in the Capitol,” she said, still smiling, but there was steel beneath it. “When he’s finished there, I’m sure he’ll come back to the district.”

Of course he would, Bucky thought bitterly. In a box.

He smiled like he meant it. “But he’s got time to see me? That’s great!”

“Yes, it is,” the woman said, rising. “You have half an hour to gather your possessions. The train will be departing on the hour from the main station. A car will come to pick you up.”

Bucky nodded, getting up too. He bowed and scraped and did everything he knew he was expected to do, a little hick boy about to get an all-expenses-paid trip to the Capitol. As soon as the woman was gone, he turned to his mother.

“Can you put a bag together for me?” he asked. “I need to go and see Carter to see if she wants me to take a message to Steve.”

His mother looked concerned. “She’s not a well woman, Bucky,” she said.

“I know,” Bucky replied. “But if she’s so sick, maybe she wants to pass on her last words or something.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

He ran all the way to Carter’s house. One of her attendants was in and got up angrily when Bucky burst in. Carter, who looked like she was sleeping, opened her eyes at once. 

“Ah, Steve,” she murmured, holding out her hand to him. “My sweet boy.”

Bucky could see the concern in the nurse’s face. “It’s okay,” he said. “Let her think it. I’ll only be five minutes.”

The nurse nodded reluctantly, withdrawing to give them some privacy. 

“Well?” Carter murmured, when he sat down on the edge of her chaise.

“I’m getting an all-expenses paid trip to the Capitol,” he said quietly. “Anything you need me to say? Or do?”

“Wear the pin,” she said quietly. “Tell him you’ve been dancing, and that you’re learning new steps. That maybe, you’ll see him on the floor of the new dance hall when it finally gets built.”

“Dance hall?”

She patted his hand. “Trust me, Barnes,” she said. “Steve will understand. We have prepared for such things.”

Bucky looked around the room warily. “Won’t they be listening? Watching you?”

She chuckled. “You’re a sweet boy, Barnes,” she murmured, “but you don’t think in terms of the big picture. This has been my house for forty years. Do you imagine that I can’t control some elements of it?” She motioned around the room. “There used to be a camera. Microphones. All the things a victor can expect. But I did so little in here, that when they broke or wore out, it didn’t seem important to replace them. How tragic that I am now forced to be bed-ridden in the only room they can’t watch or hear me in.” 

Bucky stared at her in admiration. “You’re kinda scary, y’know.”

Carter smiled and patted his cheek. “I know,” she said. “Now run. We can’t have you being late.”

By sun-down, Bucky was on the train. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. For one thing, it was designed as a passenger train. Last time he’d been, he was given a place to sit in the back of one of the freight cars, with no windows, no seats, and definitely none of the food that was laid out for him.

The woman – she told him to call her May – watched him as he tore into the food. It was too rich and he had a feeling he’d be sick when he stopped eating, but it was too good not to try a bit of everything.

“You should consider yourself fortunate, Mr Barnes,” May said. “Not many people of your class are invited to the Capitol. You must be considered a good friend.”

He set down the tart he was chewing, feeling suddenly nervous and sick. “I guess I’m just the one who bothered to get in touch,” he said, trying to play it casual.

If it was a bad response – or a good one – he couldn’t tell. 

He went back to hide out in his sleeping cabin, but he couldn’t sleep. His stomach was all knotted up, knowing Carter was right and that the Capitol wanted to use him as collateral. Most he could do was try and help Steve without giving the Capitol too much to work with.

Compared to travelling by freighter, the passenger line was incredibly fast. It took under twelve hours, crossing three Districts, for them to reach the Capitol. Bucky sat at the window, staring out, as they came within the Capitol boundaries.

On his first visit, he had barely seen anything. He was picked up from the train, shuttled in a windowless vehicle to the building where Steve lived, and then was taken back the same way. This time, he could see the gleaming buildings, the clean streets, the colourful clothes of the people milling about below.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” May said from behind him.

He hadn’t even realised she was there. “Yeah,” he said, looking back at her. “So different from everywhere else.”

She didn’t say anything, but he had another of those right-or-wrong answer feelings. He couldn’t get a read on her. She smiled placidly, sitting the vacant seat, and he went back to looking out the window. It was easier than trying to talk to her.

When the train drew in, she didn’t leave him.

Instead, he was escorted to a shuttle, and May climbed in with him. He fidgeted uncomfortably, and watched the streets flit by outside. It was bright and warm, the sun high overhead. He should have been at home, helping in the fields. They needed every hand they had. 

“You will have an hour this evening,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Stevee will host you for dinner.”

“Dinner?” It was almost a relief, knowing it would be something as simple as that. Not that he wouldn’t have wanted to touch Steve again, but knowing what Steve was being forced to do, sex was the last thing Bucky wanted to push on him.

“Precisely.” May smiled slightly. “You can tell him of your district,” she said. “See if you can encourage him to visit. He does seem quite settled here.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his hands, clenched in his lap. “And home tomorrow?”

May’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, not at all,” she said. “You are to remain in the Capitol for at least a week,” she said. She smiled that thin, careful smile again. “President Pierce feels that Stevee is losing touch with his roots. He thinks it will be good for him to have a friend to visit.”

Bucky was glad he wasn’t looking at her, or she might have seen his expression.

Carter was right on every level.

“That sounds great,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “Will I see him every day?”

“We will certainly try to schedule it,” May said, smiling. She motioned to the window. “This is where you will be staying.”

The building was a glittering spire, all glass and chrome, and so vast it looked like it should collapse under its own weight. Bucky couldn’t help staring as he was steered from the shuttle into the building and through plush corridors that were polished and gleaming with gilt and metalwork.

The room they assigned to him was just as ornate, with a huge bathroom and walls that were entirely made out of windows. The view was spectacular. For a moment, just a heartbeat, he almost envied Steve for living like this.

He immediately felt guilty as hell, knowing exactly what Steve had been through, to end up there, and what he was still going through.

“We’ll have someone come by and collect you in two hours,” May said. “Freshen up. Choose some clothes from the closet. They’re all in your size.”

Bucky didn’t want to think about how they got his measurements, but he wasn’t about to turn down the chance to use the large, heated tub. He scrubbed himself in water so hot it turned every inch of him pink, then went to the closet. 

The Capitol clothing was always strange to his eyes, too gaudy, too colourful, too impractical to be of use to anyone. He went through the clothes they had arranged for him, and eventually settled on the plainest things he could find: pants that weren’t too colourful, and a plain grey shirt with a dark tunic to go over it.

There was make-up in front of the mirror as well, but he ignored it. He wasn’t here to look like a Capitol doll. He was here to let Steve know there were people thinking about him back home.

He combed his hair back, put on his shoes, and sat and waited.

The escort came for him exactly on time, a young woman who said nothing. She led him silently through the corridors and to another shuttle.

The ride wasn’t too long, passing through rings of the city, and into a grand compound.

He recognised the elevator as soon as he stepped in.

The doors opened for him, like they had before.

Bucky took a shaky breath, and stepped into the apartment.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was seated by the window, overlooking the Capitol. 

He had been ordered to prepare to entertain a guest. For once, there was no file provided, but that wasn’t comforting. The last guest he and Tasha had been forced to entertain together had resulted in nearly ten straight nights of nightmares, and not just his.

He had never heard Tasha scream before, but the first night after Strucker’s visit, a single piercing scream had dragged him out of his own nightmares. He’d run to Tasha’s room, not even knocking before rushing in. She was shrunk back in the corner of the bed, in the corner of the room, staring wildly at him.

“Stevee?” she whispered hoarsely.

He couldn’t even say anything, but she held out her hand, and they had spent the rest of the night clinging to each other, despite how much their bodies were hurting. 

Tasha was given time to recover. He wasn’t. He was dispatched to a favoured gentleman’s house the next morning, and had visited another two clients since then. None of them put him as on edge as Strucker, and he complied, did what he was told, dreading what they would make him do to Tasha if he disobeyed again.

For the first time since Strucker had come to their rooms, he was to entertain in their apartment.

Tasha hadn’t been notified, and Steve had told her to stay in her room, locking the door. If the guest didn’t know she was there, then she couldn’t be called on as well. She knew why he was doing it, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly before she let him go.

“Be careful,” she said.

He tried to smile, but those were rarer now. “Get some rest,” he said. His voice was almost back to normal, but it still rasped more than usual.

Once she closed the room and locked the door, he went and cleaned himself up, making himself presentable. He looked like hell, and he knew it. One of the clients had commented on it, telling him all about a new chemical peel that would make him look fresher and less haggard.

Steve was grateful he couldn’t speak at the time, because otherwise, he knew he would have told the stupid bastard where to shove it.

He dressed modestly, a plain white shirt, and plain blue pants, and left off the make-up. If he was going to be beaten and degraded again, he wasn’t going to do it dressed up like some fancy whore. He was going to be himself for once, no matter what happened.

By the time the door chimed, to warn him of his guest’s approach, he told himself he was ready for whatever was thrown his way.

When he rose, his showman smile in place, and turned, he didn’t expect to find Bucky looking right back at him. Bucky. In Capitol clothing. In the doorway. Here. Back, despite what had happened last time. 

“Buck?” he said blankly.

One side of Bucky’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. “They told me I’m here for dinner,” he said. “Guess they didn’t tell you?”

Steve knew he had a part to play and a mask to wear and a persona to use. The Capitol didn’t need to know anything about his past or his friends or anything about his feelings. And yet, he was across the floor and caught Bucky in a tight, fierce hug.

Bucky returned it, but awkwardly, patting him on the back. “Dinner,” he said.

Steve drew back, still holding Bucky’s shoulders, and stared at him. He wasn’t the same Bucky who’d come before. Steve’s eyes flicked down, and he saw the pin on his shirt, cruder than the polished ones the Capitol residents wore. His heart felt like it skipped a beat. Peggy. Bucky must have talked to Peggy.

“Right,” he said with an unsteady smile. “Dinner.” He stepped back, keeping one hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You want to eat on the balcony? It’s quite a view.”

It was also one of the only places in the apartment where the microphones and cameras weren’t as invasive.

Bucky’s smile was just as careful as Steve’s own. “Whatever you like,” he said. “You know I eat anything, anywhere.”

They ended up filling bowls from the table and carrying them out to the balcony. There were a couple of chairs there, usually only ever used by Steve and Tasha, but Steve didn’t care about that now. Bucky was here, and for one night, for one brief hour, it was almost like a respite.

He didn’t want to try and figure out why the Capitol had brought Bucky back. Maybe it was a reward for good behaviour, but then they had brought him back to the Capitol. It could be a threat and a warning that if Steve didn’t continue to comply, Bucky might end up in Strucker’s hands.

Bucky kicked him lightly in the ankle. “You not hungry, pal?”

Steve blinked at him. “What?”

“You’ve been sitting staring into your bowl for five minutes,” Bucky said. “You okay? You’re sounding kinda choked up.”

Steve tried to smile. “Sore throat,” he lied, and he saw the way Bucky’s brows dragged together. He didn’t believe him, and Steve didn’t blame him. He looked back down at his bowl. “How are your parents? Good?”

“Same as always,” Bucky replied. “Becks said to say hi.”

Steve nodded. It was safe ground. Neutral. God, he wanted to talk to Bucky so badly, but there were ears everywhere and whatever they said would be analysed, taken apart, and used against both of them.

Bucky was leaning back in his chair, watching Steve. “Your old mentor came back to the district, y’know,” he said.

“I heard she was sick,” Steve said as dismissively as he could.

“Yeah.” Bucky poked around the contents of his bowl some more. “They told us it was a stroke or something. You wouldn’t know her anymore.” He met Steve’s eyes. “She kept calling other kids by your name and talked about going dancing. I figured she did it while she was here.”

Steve had to force his breath to stay under his control, his chest suddenly tight. He and Peggy had talked at length, in all the years she had been by his side. She’d taught him codes, and dancing was first and foremost among them.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes on Bucky’s face. “It’s not like they have dance halls back home.”

Bucky’s lips twitched in something that was almost a smile. “If I go to one here, maybe I’ll learn some new steps,” he said. “Or get someone to teach me. I never needed to know before, but if I’m getting invited to the Capitol, I should know, right?”

Steve’s mouth was dry. Peggy had confided in Bucky. Peggy trusted Bucky. Peggy knew Bucky would be coming back here, and sent him with the words to let him know. For the first time in months, he had a connection to the outside world. 

But the Capitol’s people would be listening, and all this talk of dancing would make them suspicious.

“Are you asking me to dance, Barnes?”

Bucky looked at him in surprise and Steve raised his eyebrows, pleading with his eyes, prompting him to realise how careful they had to be with words and actions. 

“You can dance?” he said, feigning disbelief. “Two-Left-Feet Rogers?”

Steve almost laughed in breathless relief. “That was a long time ago, Barnes,” he said. “I learned a few things in the city.”

“I bet,” Bucky said. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and for the first time since he’d been handed out like a piece of meat, Steve felt ashamed of it. Bucky must have noticed, because he set his bowl down and jerked his head back towards the door. “You got music, Rogers? Show me what you can do.”

Steve rose, then hesitated, offering his hand down. He half-expected Bucky to recoil from him. If he knew what Peggy knew, then he knew what Steve’s role was. If he knew that, if he knew what Steve had become, Steve wouldn’t have blamed him for not wanting to come anywhere near him.

Bucky was better than that.

His hand was rough and warm around Steve’s, and he let Steve pull him upright. Steve held on just a second too long, revelling in that brief contact. It had been so fucking long since he’d had someone touching him who didn’t come in expecting anything from him.

“So,” he said, “music?”

Steve nodded, leading the way back into the living room. It was too late to keep the Capitol from noticing Bucky. The fact Bucky was here told him that. If Peggy had got to him, Bucky would know it too. If they only had this one night before Pierce and his people ripped everything away, Steve knew he was going to make it count.

“You ever do more than line-dance?” he said over his shoulder.

Bucky was looking around the room, but turned back to him. “I’m not that much of a hick,” he said. “I do know some steps.”

There weren’t many ways to dance back in their district. If it wasn’t the whooping whirling of the massive dances, then it was the slower, more intimate dances made for couples, who wanted to be as close together as they could be.

“Slow-dancing isn’t what I had in mind, Buck,” Steve murmured, looking down at the control of the audio player. 

“What’s wrong, Rogers?” Bucky’s voice was quieter. “You chicken?”

Steve looked over at him, remembering those words. Christ, he’s handled Bucky like he was a client, and Bucky knew it. Bucky knew exactly what he was and what he had done. He looked away, bile in his throat, and ran his fingers over the controls of the player, turning on the music.

“We never danced, Buck,” he said. 

Bucky’s voice was closer to him when he spoke. “Lots of things we never did.” Bucky’s shoes tapped on the marble of the floor, and Steve almost flinched out of habit when Bucky’s hand touched his wrist. 

Steve’s eyes flicked down to Bucky’s hand. It was callused from work, broader and rougher than he remembered, and the last time that hand had touched him, it was when he fucked Bucky against the door, to try and drive him away. It hadn’t worked.

He raised his eyes to Bucky’s face. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Barnes?” he asked quietly. 

“Right now?” Bucky’s mouth turned up in a small smile. “Waiting to see these fancy dance moves you were talking about.”

Steve couldn’t help just looking at him. “You’re still a jackass, Barnes,” he said.

Bucky’s hand slid down his wrist to clasp his hand. “You know what they say about old habits,” he said with his familiar lop-sided smile. 

For just a moment, Steve curled his fingers around Bucky’s. “They’ll end up with you in a ditch, singing at the moon,” he retorted.

Bucky’s smile flashed across his face. “C’mon,” he said. “Are we going to yap all night or are you going to teach me your fancy Capitol dances?”

It was the strangest, dumbest thing Steve could remember doing, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he couldn’t help laughing as Bucky tried to follow his lead. 

And even though it was only said as a joke, they ended up whirling each other closer and closer, until Bucky’s arm was around Steve’s waist, and Steve’s was around Bucky’s, and their faces were so close they were almost breathing each other in.

Steve’s eyes were fixed on Bucky’s, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He wanted to kiss him. Not like before, not handling him, not playing him, but just kiss him, warm and real and genuine.

The music stopped and they were still locked together, staring at each other. 

“So,” Bucky’s breath was warm on his lips. “That’s dancing?”


	7. Chapter 7

The time in the Capitol went by too fast.

Even though Bucky knew he was either bait or a caution to Steve, he did everything he could to give Steve a break from the hell he’d been caught up in. He was taken to him once a night, and they talked about dumb things from home, about the building around them, about anything that wasn’t Steve’s prison.

Once, Tasha joined them.

She seemed smaller, quieter than she had been the first time he saw her. Her real smiles were like Steve’s: cautious, fragile. She didn’t sit by him, he noticed. He didn’t know if it was because she preferred to keep her distance, or because she wanted Steve to have the attention, and he didn’t want to ask.

On the last night, the meal laid out for them was ridiculous. Bucky had to give up after one course, too rich and heavy for him. Instead, he and Steve ended up sprawled side by side on the couch, in front of the fireplace. They both had a glass of sweet honey wine.

“You should come back to the district,” Bucky murmured. “I think Carter’d like to see you.”

Steve looked into the fireplace. “The Capitol is my home now,” he said, and if Bucky hadn’t known him as well as he did, he might have been convinced. “I got everything I need here.” He glanced at Bucky with a half-smile. “You going to tell me my house in the Victor’s Village is half as good as this?”

Bucky glanced around the room. “Well, it’s not as big,” he agreed, “and we don’t have anywhere for you to show off those fancy dance moves of yours.” He knocked Steve’s elbow with his. “If we build a new dance floor, how about it? You come home and we show everyone how they dance in the Capitol?”

Steve leaned forward and set his empty glass on the table in front of him. “If they build a new dance floor,” he said with a brief smile. “Yeah, maybe then. Make it more civilised.” 

He reached over and took Bucky’s glass from his hand. He drained the last of the wine, then set the glass down beside his own. He leaned closer, his lips wet, gleaming by the firelight.

When he kissed Bucky, Bucky didn’t make any moves to stop him. 

It wasn’t like the first time. Steve’s palm was spread on his cheek, his fingers curling through Bucky’s hair. His mouth was open and his tongue darted against Bucky’s lips, teasing them open, and Bucky closed his eyes with a small, hungry sigh, returning the kiss.

He tasted of honeywine, Bucky thought, bringing his hand up to squeeze Steve’s arm.

Steve drew back, staring at him, and Bucky could guess what was bothering him. Both of them glanced towards the door, remembering the first visit, the violent urgency of it. It wasn’t done for Steve’s pleasure, and the last thing Bucky wanted was to push that on him again. 

“We don’t have to do anything, pal,” he murmured, squeezing Steve’s arm again.

Steve nodded and settled for kissing him again. It was slow and lazy and they ended up sprawled against each other on the couch, Steve all but draped over him. He could feel the press of Steve’s body right up against his. 

“Buck?”

Bucky opened his eyes, looking up at him. “Yeah?”

Steve’s pupils were wide and dark and his breathing was shallow. He didn’t say anything, just caught one of Bucky’s hands, drew it to his own belt. Bucky’s breath stuttered. 

“Yeah?” he said again, his mouth dry.

“God, yes,” Steve panted. 

Bucky had Steve’s belt undone and his hand down the front of Steve’s pants in a heartbeat. If Steve wanted that from him, he was more than happy to give him something to remember him by, to give him some kind of pleasure before they were dragged apart again.

It was rough and it was messy, but that didn’t seem to matter to Steve. He had his hands braced on either side of Bucky’s head, his eyes fixed on Bucky’s face as Bucky jerked him off. His breath was hissing between clenched teeth, and when he came over Bucky’s hands, he pressed his eyes shut and didn’t make a sound.

Steve pushed himself back, sitting up. Bucky could tell from his expression that he was angry with himself. Maybe it was just because he’d done something for himself for once. Or maybe he saw it as showing a weakness.

Bucky leaned closer, grabbing him by the front of the shirt, and pulled him back to kiss him again. Steve made a startled sound, pulling back.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“Your head’s up your ass, Rogers,” Bucky snorted, and dragged him back again. 

They were still sprawled on the couch when the door chimed. Steve was the one to pull back, and he didn’t look happy about it. “You better go,” he said. “Time’s up.”

“Five minutes more can’t hurt,” Bucky said jokingly, but the look on Steve’s face brought him up short.

“Thank you,” Steve said, “for the pleasure of your company.”

It sounded formulaic, and Bucky wondered how many people he had been forced to say those words to in the past few years. He forced himself to smile, wiped his hand deliberately on Steve’s shirt, then patted his cheek patronisingly. 

“Keep at it, Rogers,” he said. “The Capitol lucky to have you.”

Steve’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything. He just walked Bucky to the door and showed him out, as if it was normal.

As he crossed the threshold, Steve’s fingers brushed against his, but before he could turn, the door closed behind him. He knocked his fist against it in frustration, but the doorway at the other end of the hall was open, and the elevator was waiting.

As soon as he was put on the train, his escorts and companions vanished. 

May entered the carriage as the train pulled away from the station, and smiled her neutral smile at him. She asked how his visit had been, and whether he had enjoyed his time in the Capitol. Bucky smiled and lied and wished he could take her by the throat and shake her.

If she expected him to spill every detail of the trip, she was mistaken. She pressed for information, and that only made him lie more thoroughly. Yes, the Capitol was nice. Sure, he’d like to come back, maybe see more of the city. Yeah, Stevee was okay, but he was showing off all his Capitol stuff now, and Bucky felt out of place.

He didn’t know if she bought it, but he laid it on thick anyway.

She watched him step down from the train, and by the time he reached the shuttle to take him back to his home, she was back inside and the train was already pulling away.

His family were waiting for him when he got out of the shuttle. They knew better than to ask, and as much as he hated it, he knew he wasn’t ready or willing to say anything about how it went. He just hugged each of them, handed his mom a box of the candied fruit from the train, and went out walking through the district.

After a week surrounded by glitz and wealth, it felt like he’d come back to slums.

His feet carried him to the Victor’s Village. He hadn’t planned on visiting so soon, but as he neared Carter’s house, he knew he had to. He knocked on the door before entering. He shed his muddy boots in the hall, then knocked again on the door to the downstairs room.

Before he could open it, it was opened from the inside.

A tall black man with an eyepatch looked him up and down. “Barnes, right?”

Bucky stared at the man. A victor from District Three decades earlier, Fury was even more imposing in the flesh. “Uh. Yeah. Is Carter in?”

Fury looked back over his shoulder, then opened the door wider. As soon as Bucky was through, he closed it. 

Carter was in her usual chaise, but had thicker blankets wrapped around her shoulders. She almost looked like she was sleeping, but as soon as Bucky sat down on the edge of the chaise, her eyes opened and she looked at him.

“Barnes. How was your trip?”

“An education,” he admitted. “The Capitol’s something to see.” He glanced over his shoulder at Fury, not sure how much he could say in front of the man.

Carter’s hand found Bucky’s and squeezed it. “Don’t you worry about Fury,” she said. “He’s an old friend. He was given special dispensation to visit since I’ve been getting worse. He knows all about the dance halls.”

Bucky eyed the man. Fury raised his eyebrows, saying nothing. 

“Did you see Steve?” Carter prompted gently. 

Bucky nodded, and described their brief nightly encounters as quickly as he could. He left out some details, because he was pretty sure Steve wouldn’t want everyone to know they’d danced like a pair of idiots the first night they were together.

He did, however, remember to mention Steve’s interest in a new dance hall, and that he would like to come and see it.

Carter and Fury exchanged looks. 

“What do you think?” Carter said.

Fury rubbed at his jaw with one hand. “You and your dancing, Carter,” he said, shaking his head. “You couldn’t come up with anything else?”

The look Carter levelled at him was both amused and exasperated. “It was what they knew me for,” she said. “You know that, Fury.”

Fury dragged over one of the seats, sitting down at the end of the chaise. Bucky couldn’t help feeling he was sitting in the middle of something important, but that he didn’t really understand. “You told you’d be taken back to the Capitol again, kid?” he asked.

“They didn’t say,” Bucky replied. “Hawley asked me about it on the way there and back.”

Fury and Carter exchanged another look.

“If Steve’s been causing as many problems as before,” Carter said, “they’ll have him back sooner or later.”

Fury’s brow furrowed in a frown. He jerked his head towards the door. “You should go, kid. We have stuff we need to talk about.”

“If it’s going to help Steve,” Bucky said, “I want to help.”

“Right now,” Fury said, “you need to keep your head down and stay alive, understand?”

Bucky looked at Carter, who nodded. “We’ll let you know what you can do,” she said. “For now, spend time with your family.”

Bucky reluctantly got up, heading for the main hallway. He took his time lacing his boots up, listening intently, and he heard Carter sigh quietly.

“He should never have become involved in this. This isn’t a world he was meant for.”

“You said he put himself out there,” Fury replied. “He made the choice.”

“He didn’t know what the Capitol was like,” Carter said. “If they’re going so far as to invite him like that, I really don’t like it.”

Fury was silent for a moment. “He wants to help his friend,” he said finally. “You would’ve done the same and you know it.”

Whatever she said next was muffled as Fury came over and closed the door firmly behind him. In the empty hallway, Bucky stood in the twilight. 

Anyone who got in trouble with the Capitol brought trouble raining down on everyone around them. Everyone knew that, and he’d still gone poking at the Capitol just to try and get in touch with Steve. He hadn’t thought about what might happen. All he’d needed to know was that Steve was okay, and now, he knew he wasn’t…

He pushed his fingers through his hair.

Carter was right. Best he could do now was spend time with his family, and hope that they wouldn’t be hit by the fall-out.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve looked at his reflection in the mirror. 

Vivid colours were painted around his eyes and his lips. Tiny jewels were glued to the top of each of the gold stripes down his cheek. His clothing was fitted, sleek, and jewelled too. He looked like he belonged in the Capitol, and he hated it.

For the first time since his run-in with Brock, he had been ordered to attend a party. Tasha was to go as his escort. The Capitol had always broadcast the idea that they were involved. They looked good together, there was no denying it, but Steve knew why they were sent out together. They were there to keep each other in check.

The unspoken warning hung over both of them: if either of them stepped out of line, they could expect another visit from Strucker, and this one might not end so gently.

It wasn’t like Tasha caused any problems anyway. While they held the blade over her neck, and his district to keep him in line, when threats to his person didn’t suffice, there was no one they could threaten to subdue her. The implant they had connected to her spine was incentive enough. It wouldn’t kill, because that would be a kindness, but it would paralyse her, leaving her at their mercy, even more than she already was.

Steve often wondered why she didn’t take the way out that she’d offered him. Suicide wasn’t difficult to orchestrate. If she wanted to die, he knew she could make it happen.

Once, he tried to ask her, and the look she gave him cut off the question before he even finished speaking. That night, when he’d woken from a nightmare, and her pale, thin arms were around him, she sighed and called him an idiot.

“Looking good, Stevee,” she said, from the door of the dressing room. 

He glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her flame-red hair was twisted up in coils and curls on top of her head, sparking with gemstones. Her dress revealed as much as it concealed, and she did a mocking little twirl, showing the loops of gold cascading in chains from her shoulders to the base of her bare back. 

“Classy,” he said dryly.

“Mm,” she agreed. “I thought so. At least this one has some fabric at the front.”

He looked down at his own shirt which was so thin it might as well have not been there. “Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Ready?”

“As always,” she replied, straightening up as he crossed the floor to the door and offered her his arm.

Their handlers were waiting in the lobby. 

Steve wasn’t surprised to see that there were several more than there had been at the last gathering. Probably because he’d knocked at least two down, fighting against their grip when they took him down to Zola’s laboratory. They’d stunned him to finally get him on the table. Not enough to leave him unconscious, but enough to that he couldn’t fight when Zola cut into his throat.

He supposed he was lucky. Most avoxes were left with no tongues. They only cut into his vocal cords, and left his mouth intact. Then again, what use was a whore if you took away one of his most valued assets?

“Fellas,” he said with false bonhomie. 

They didn’t reply, and he smiled his best, most charming smile at them, memorising their faces for the day when he had no one left to worry about. That day, he thought, would be a good day. A bloody, violent, and probably short day, but he would be free. 

The journey to the party didn’t take long, and there were exclamations of delight when he and Tasha emerged from one of the shuttles. Flashbulbs surrounded them at once, and as usual, a hundred painted hands reached out to touch them, as if they were pets to be patted at will. 

Tasha’s hand tightened on his arm. He didn’t know if it was to restrain him or to keep herself in check, but he smiled and laughed and greeted familiar faces as if they were friends and not the sons of bitches who liked to see a victor in their bed, bought and paid for.

It wasn’t one of the worse parties they had attended, he had to admit. Rumlow wasn’t there, which was more of a relief than he had expected. It was close to six weeks since their encounter, and it seemed Rumlow had ended up with a black mark by his name. 

He was circulating as Tasha settled on a couch, surrounded by a coterie of devoted fans, each cooing over her hair and clothing.

“Stevee, I presume?”

Steve turned to find a woman looking at him. She was in her fifties, tall, thin, and angular, with silver- and gold-streaked black hair drawn back from stern features. “That’s me, ma’am,” he said, in his warmest tones. “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

She held out a slim hand. “May,” she said. “I’m head of the President’s security taskforce.”

The thought made his skin crawl, but he bowed over her hand, his lips not quite touching her knuckles. “I’ve met a few of your colleagues,” he said. She was definitely one of Pierce’s elite, but not one he’d personally encountered. “It’s a pleasure.”

She smiled slightly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Likewise,” she said. “I have heard that you like to dance. Perhaps you would join me?”

Steve straightened up, staring at her. “Dance?”

She looked placidly back at him, then glanced towards the open space on the floor where couples were dancing. “Indeed,” she said. “I’ve heard the dances in your district are quite the sight to behold.”

Steve’s heart was pounding against his ribs. Maybe she had seen the footage of the nights Bucky had spent in the Capitol. Or maybe she was using Peggy’s codes because she knew them. He offered her his arm politely.

“Do you prefer new dances,” he said, “or are you old-fashioned?”

She laughed quietly. “I’ve been dancing since I was a child, Mr Rogers,” she said. “Long before you were even a glint in your mother’s eye.” She reached up to adjust the fall of her blood-red dress, and he saw a glint of metal, round, marked with a star. He looked back at her face, and she raised her eyebrow. “Perhaps I can teach you some steps.”

Of all the places in the Capitol, the parties were the best places to talk privately, with noise from music and conversations drowning one another out.

Security Chief May led him through the steps of one of the Capitol’s slower dances, smiling a neutral smile. “I imagine you have many dance partners waiting for your return in your district,” she said.

He watched her guardedly. “Not really,” he said. “I don’t really dance much.”

“A shame,” she said, “though I suppose it’s also a blessing that you have fewer people to miss while you’re in the Capitol.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “Plenty of partners to choose from here.”

Her eyes flicked beyond him. “You have your Tasha, of course.”

Steve had to fight the urge to check she was okay. “Tasha’s not much of a dancer,” he said.

“Not where anyone can see, anyway,” May said in a tone that made Steve’s gut clench. As the music stopped, she stepped back and curtsied gracefully. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Mr Rogers.”

Those words made acid rise in his throat. They were the words beaten into him before he was handed to his first client. 

After that client ended up with a bloody nose and three busted ribs, Steve was taken away and re-educated. They didn’t touch him. They’d realised it wouldn’t work. Instead, they put up a live feed from his home, lined up four people he knew, and shot them in the head. 

Those words had become a eulogy for all the people who had died in his name.

With the lull in the music, he heard Tasha’s exclamation over the din.

He turned sharply to see her on the couch, flanked by a man he knew to be a client. She didn’t look happy. The man’s hand was under her skirt.

Steve took a step forward.

May’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Another dance, I think, Stevee,” she said.

“If you’ll excuse me…”

“Now, Rogers,” she said, sharp as a blow. She was Pierce’s top guard dog. She probably had the President’s ear. If he refused her, it would be even worse than what would happen if he tried to get in the way of Tasha’s client. 

He forced a smile. “Maybe I could get you a drink?” he suggested.

“A dance now,” May replied evenly. “If we need to cool down afterwards, you can fetch me a drink.”

He let her lead him back out onto the floor, and he tried to keep his expression professional. It was difficult when every turn let him see Tasha getting angrier. 

She met his eyes and he raised his eyebrows in enquiry. He saw the way she glanced at his partner, and shook her head subtly. She didn’t need his help, and he was probably in more trouble than she was anyway.

By the time the dance finished, Tasha had liberated herself and was on the arm of another man, the handsy client nowhere to be seen. 

“Perhaps we should get that drink now,” May said mildly. “Time to cool down.”

He looked at her guardedly. She had just stopped him getting himself into trouble by bothering one of Tasha’s clients, but whether it was intentional or not, he wasn’t sure. He offered her his arm. “You must really like dancing,” he said.

Her mouth curled in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I like to keep my partners busy,” she said, as they wove between the people and the tables. “You wouldn’t want to tread on anyone’s toes.”

He controlled his reaction. He didn’t let the surprise, the relief show. She knew Peggy. “Well,” he said, “I’m glad you thought I should be kept busy. I don’t dance nearly enough.”

She looked at him, and for the first time, he saw a glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes. “I can see that,” she said. She drew him to a halt, pulling him around to face her. Her hand spread on his chest, sliding downwards. “We should come to some special arrangement, you and I.”

To anyone else, they must have looked like lovers arranging a tryst. She was looking up at him coyly, and one of her hands was toying with his belt, and he was leaning closer to keep their words between themselves. 

“I’m a very busy man, Ma’am,” he said. 

“Oh, I’m well aware, Mr Rogers.” She rose on her toes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “But if you ever have time to play…”

He inclined his head. “I’ll check my diaries,” he said, knowing access would only be given if Pierce authorised it. “Thank you, for the pleasure of your dancing.”

May drew back. “We’ll have to do it again some time,” she said, lifting her hand to caress his cheek with a convincing show of wistfulness. “You’re a very attractive man, Mr Rogers.”

He watched her walk away, lithe and deadly as Tasha. He kept eyes on her, and saw her speaking with Pierce, saw her look deliberately, mournfully in his direction. It was the look of many a disappointed client. 

It wasn’t until he and Tasha were back in the apartment that he withdrew the note May had slipped into his pocket. It was a tiny fragment of paper, but he recognised Peggy’s hand-writing. It bore only two sentences.

New dance hall in progress. Opening soon.

He stared at the words, then burned the paper.

If everything went right, home was waiting.

If not…

He didn’t want to think about that.


	9. Chapter 9

Things were going badly in the district.

Unexpectedly bad weather had ruined some of the harvest. The silos weren't as full as they should have been. The Capitol was still taking its usual share, which meant that the other districts were receiving a cut in their grain allowance.

It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right.

People were speaking out more.

People were being punished for it.

The Peace Keepers had their hands full, especially on the day the shipments were being packed onto the train. Protesters charged the train. Peace Keepers opened fire. At least six people died, and dozens more were injured.

Bucky stayed clear of all of it.

It wasn't that he didn't agree with it, but the Capitol were already paying too much attention to him. He didn't want to give them a reason to look closer.

Things only got worse when the curfew was put in place.

Peace Keepers patrolled the street.

A kid from the other side of the town was supposedly caught trying to steal food from one of the silos in the night. His screams as he was flogged in the town square woke up half the town, and Bucky was halfway out the door when Becky caught him, dragging him back in.

"It won't help," she hissed. "They'll have the skin off your back too."

"They can't keep doing this," he said, looking out into the street.

Becky shut the door. "Yeah," she said, "they can."

When he headed to the warehouses the next day, he passed through the town square. The boy was still bound to the post, his back thick with dried blood. He was breathing, but barely, and most people were keeping their eyes down, avoiding the Peace Keepers and the rebel both.

He broke away from the group of workers, despite people hissing his name, trying to stop him. The water fountain nearby was flowing cool and clear. He scooped up some water in his hands and went to the boy's side, cupping his hand to the boy's mouth.

The boy drank feebly, his head falling forward against the post again as Bucky was dragged back by Peace Keepers.

"Back off, kid," one of them snarled, throwing Bucky back.

One of the other labourers, Dugan, caught Bucky's arm. "No problem here," he said, setting himself between Bucky and the Peace Keeper. "Just giving a kid a drink."

"That boy is an example."

"Yeah," Dugan said with a snort. "We can see that." He jerked his head towards Bucky. "Kid's soft."

The Peace Keeper thumbed the control of his gun. "Get to work," he snapped.

"We're gettin', we're gettin'," Dugan said, hands raised. "C'mon, Barnes. No more playing nursemaid." He pushed Bucky ahead of him, one hand between his shoulders. "We don't want to upset the robots."

One of the so-called robots struck Dugan between the shoulderblades with a gun. "Mind your manners."

Dugan spun around, bowing mockingly. "Yes, sir, sorry, sir."

Bucky looked back, as they continued on their way to the warehouses. "You shouldn't have got in the way," he said quietly.

"And you shouldn't have been helping the kid," Dugan retorted. "Figured this way, they could be pissed at both of us. Share it out instead of you getting all of it."

Bucky nodded. "Thanks," he said. "It was dumb of you, but thanks."

Dugan socked him on the shoulder. "No problem, kid," he said.

The warehouse complex spread out ahead of them, and they parted ways to head off to the packing centres. With most of the harvests done, everything had to be gathered up for shipping. It felt wrong to be crate food that their people needed to send to the Capitol, but it was what they had to do.

It was monotonous work, hour by hour, day by day, and usually, nothing changed.

Today was different.

Halfway through the day, a siren wailed.

Bucky set down the crate he was carrying, and lifted a hand to wipe at his brow.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Morita, one of the guys from three blocks over, shook his head. "Some kind of Capitol announcement?" he guessed. He was flushed, leaning heavily on the crate he'd just set down. "Or someone else just got arrested."

His first guess was right.

Projections flickered in the air, showing the logo of the Capitol. Bombastic music started playing, and any workers who hadn't stopped already set down their boxes to look up at the images.

Bucky's stomach felt like a rock had settled in it when Steve's image coalesced.

He wasn't wearing as much make-up as he had when Bucky saw him in the Capitol, but his clothing was still rich and luxurious. He was seated against a backdrop of the Capitol, his hands folded in his lap, and he was smiling his stage-smile.

When he spoke, he spoke in a too-bright tone about the wonder of the Capitol and how the greatness of a country could be measured by the greatness of its people. He talked about the workers supporting the districts, and the benefit they could bring to each other. He decried people who would try and disrupt the harmony of the districts.

It was because of the protests, Bucky knew. 

To anyone who was listening, Steve was criticising their fight for justice, but Bucky could see the way his hands were tightening around each other. He was hating every word of it, and Bucky wondered what threats they were using to make him speak out against his own people and everything he believed in. 

Steve finished placidly. "Panem now, Panem forever."

The projections blinked out.

There was a long silence.

"That traitor."

Bucky whirled around on the speaker, a man called Hodges. "Shut your mouth."

Hodges gestured to the place the projection had been. "We all heard him, Barnes!" he said. "He's pretty much telling us to lie on our backs and take it! He's a Capitol-loving traitor and a coward."

Thirty seconds later, three people managed to drag Bucky back off him, cursing and kicking.

"Easy!" Morita panted, his arm around Bucky's ribs. "This isn't going to help anyone!"

Bucky struggled against him. "Steve Rogers isn't a traitor," he snarled.

Hodges was being helped to his feet by his friends. "Then how come he doesn't come back here anymore? How come he lives there, in the lap of luxury if he cares so much about us? He doesn't give a crap about any of us, Barnes! You're an idiot if you think he does!"

Bucky went still. He couldn't say anything, he knew. He couldn't, because the Capitol would be watching. They would probably silence him before he could spread the word. And anyone who heard him would be silenced too. Peggy's voice rang in his head, warning him to be cautious.

"You got no fucking idea," he said, his voice echoing in the quiet. He jerked free from the men holding him, and stalked back to his work station. 

Gradually, people started talking quietly nearby and work resumed.

Half an hour later, the foreman came by. Bucky wasn't surprised when he was pulled aside and reprimanded for attacking Hodges. He kept his temper, took the reproach, and apologised through clenched teeth. Hodges looked smug, the bastard.

By the time he got home, his mood hadn't improved.

It only got worse when Steve's message was played again on every screen in the district, just in case anyone had missed it.

Becks was the one to shut it off.

"People believe it," Bucky said, staring blankly at the screen. "People in the warehouses. They think he's a traitor."

"He hasn't come back in a long while," his mother observed quietly.

Bucky looked at her angrily. "Like he has a choice."

She met his eyes calmly. "I know that," she said, "and you know that."

"And we can't tell anyone else," he said bitterly, "unless we want to end up at the flogging post like the kid last night."

The kid was gone from the main square when the warehouses emptied at the end of the work day. No one knew where he'd been taken and the Peace Keepers weren't saying anything. 

From the mutters Bucky had heard around the warehouses throughout the day, there hadn't been a break-in. Nothing had been stolen. Whatever the kid had been beaten for, it wasn't any crime he'd committed. 

Bucky had a bad feeling he knew what had been used to motivate Steve into making his speech. He wrapped his arms over his middle, feeling sick. 

It got worse after that.

There was a new reel each day.

Steve was shining and healthy.

The people in the district grew angrier with each one.

Bucky had to bite down on his lip, clench his fists and keep his mouth shut. It wouldn't help anyone if he drew attention of the Capitol. He kept his head down, and sometimes Dugan or Morita gave him a nod or a pat on the back, letting him know he wasn't the only one who was pissed.

On the eighth day, something was different.

The reel that played echoed what the others had said, but there was something off. It took Bucky three viewings to realise what it was: Steve was wearing exactly the same outfit as he’d been wearing in the first one, and the location was identical. Every other video was in a different place, with different clothing.

They were recycling footage. Maybe the quotes were different, but it had been recorded at the same time as the first video. Maybe they planned and recorded sets. God only knew how many Steve had to record.

The next day, it was the same again: the location and framing of the third video recycled.

Bucky could hear people still muttering about him being a traitor, selling out to the Capitol. 

Still, it was working. 

The fact that Steve was speaking for the Capitol meant people knew the Capitol were watching. No one wanted to be the next person tied to the flogging post. Everyone was keeping their head down and minding their own business.

Bucky even managed to avoid punching Hodges in the mouth again.

Still, he was called back as the warehouses cleared. The foreman kept him waiting while the shifts cleared through, then sat down and talked to him like he was a dumb kid. Some bullshit about his temper needing to be kept in check. Bucky snorted, wondering if the foreman had any idea how tightly he was reining himself in.

When he finally got out of the warehouse, it was dark already.

Curfew was starting soon.

Bucky shoved his heads in his coat pockets and headed in the direction of home. He’d just turned off the main street, when he heard footsteps right behind him, keeping pace with him. He quickened his pace, his heart beating faster when they matched him.

He remembered the boy at the whipping post, his back bloody.

He remembered the Peace Keeper.

He remembered Steve.

He ran. 

Behind him, someone called out, but he didn’t look back. Home was safe. He just had to get there and lock the door and he’d be safe.

He didn’t see the men in the side alley until one of them stepped out of the shadows and caught him across the middle with a metal bar. He folded to the ground, gasping. Another man pushed him onto his back, and a torch shone on his face.

“This him?”

Bucky blinked, recoiling from the light.

“That’s the one,” another man said. “Hold the camera steady.”

“Wh-what do you want?” Bucky gasped out, raising his hand to shield his eyes.

“Nothing you can offer us, kid.” 

It was the head Peace Keeper, and Bucky could see him pulling on studded leather gloves. The shape of the night was suddenly becoming very clear.

One flogged boy wasn’t enough.

Steve needed to be motivated.

I won’t scream, Bucky promised himself, curling in tight. I won’t.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, this chapter contains violent imagery.

"Due to your good behaviour in the past few weeks, you have permission to visit the district for two days."

Steve bowed his head gratefully. "Thank you, sir."

It almost sounded sincere. Almost.

President Pierce looked back from the window at him. "Make no mistake, Rogers," he said, "if you act in any way that the Capitol deems unsuitable, there will be repercussions."

"I understand," Steve said tightly. "I just want to see Carter."

Pierce's smile was benign. "Of course you do. You will be picked up shortly." 

He waved a hand and Steve's handlers ushered him back out of the President's office. A few of the attendants in the building looked at him with interest, but he kept his focus ahead until he was in the shuttle. Only then did he sink back, closing his eyes. 

It was almost three weeks since the propos had stopped being 'convincing' enough for the President. Steve was amazed that any of them had been, given the crap lines they were forcing him to say, paid for with the skin off a boy's back. 

Pierce had decided he needed incentive if he was to produce the right attitude. That night, they had projected live footage of Bucky being beaten senseless into his room. They'd locked the door, leaving him no way to avoid it, and when Bucky broke and started screaming, he'd beaten his own fists bloody in fury.

He ended up on his knees, hands braced on either side of the projection on the wall, staring helplessly at Bucky's face.

The camera was left lying on the ground beside Bucky when they were done, and all night, all he could hear was the pained rasp of Bucky's breathing. The spill of his blood turned the wall of the room red.

Steve filmed new propos the next day, and he read the lines, smiled his smile, and warmed himself in the knowledge that when he was free, he would come back and kill every fucking one of them with his bare hands. 

Every day for three weeks, he'd filmed a new propos.

Even on the day when word reached them that Peggy had had another seizure, and was in a coma. He had to keep smiling through it, until his face hurt, until he was clenching his fists so hard his nails were leaving bloody curves in his palm.

The Capitol loved Peggy. She was one of their old favourites, and had been for decades. When she took ill, months before, people were stricken. 

Now, amid the rumours that she was dying, Steve had thrown dignity on the fire and pleaded with Pierce to be allowed to see her. It would look good, he said, Stevee Rogers at his dying mentor's bedside, bringing the Capitol's affection to her.

He hadn't expected Pierce to agree, but the President smiled his snake-smile and granted permission.

"Well?" Tasha asked when he got back.

Steve waited until the door shut behind him. "I'm going home," he said in disbelief.

Tasha's face broke into a smile. "That's great," she said.

"Yeah," he said, sitting down.

"And you're not happy about it." It wasn't a question.

He looked up at her. "It's not the reason I wanted to be going back." He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Carter. I'd want her well more than I'd want to go back."

Tasha came over and sat down beside him. "We take what we can get," she murmured, pressing his thigh gently. "When do you go?"

Steve shook his head. "They didn't say. Soon."

"You should pack," Tasha said, slipping her arm through his. "I'll help."

Less than an hour later, the doors chimed. Steve was ready, and rose as his escorts entered, fanning out to frame the room. He was only a little surprised when May strode into the room, dressed entirely in black, her hair drawn back severely from her face. 

"Ready?" she said abruptly.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. He glanced at Tasha, who was sprawled on the couch like a cat. "I'll see you soon," he promised. 

"Have fun, Rogers," she said with a lazy salute.

The journey was made in the lap of luxury. It meant nothing to him. No matter how comfortable and rich it was, it was still a cage. He sat at the table in the dining room, ate when he was told, slept when he was told, and spoke little. 

May watched him over the rim of her own glass, keeping up a steady flow of conversation regarding the security protocols in place for his visit. The district was being prepared with Peace Keepers to hand, she informed him, and he wasn't surprised. 

For months, he'd been used as the Capitol's mouthpiece. He hadn't been seen in the district for years. He dressed and looked like he was from the Capitol. They probably saw him as a traitor. 

It was as bad as he expected when the train pulled in to the station the next morning.

Fences had been erected, and he'd never seen so many Peace Keepers in one place at one time. The crowds that were pale and drawn. A few of them smiled in greeting, but further back, they looked unhappy and angry.

Steve tried to pull on the smile he wore in the Capitol, but he couldn't. Not here. Not where he came from.

He searched along the crowd, and saw one of the faces he wanted and needed to see. Bucky, leaning on his sister's arm. His face was still swollen, although the bruises had faded to an ugly yellow.

Steve stared at him just too long. The last time he'd seen Bucky, he was bleeding and unconscious, and Steve was almost sure he would be dead by morning, but he wasn't. He was standing and breathing and he wasn't dead.

Bucky jerked his head in a curt nod of acknowledgement, then looked away.

That was all they could afford each other.

Bucky didn't need more attention.

He was escorted down to a shuttle, which carried him to Peggy's house in the Victor's Village. He had an audience every step of the way, as he walked up the steps, as he went into the room, even as he sat down at her bedside.

She was motionless, connected to a dozen machines.

"Hey, Peggy," he murmured, lifting her thin hand between his. He could feel dozens of eyes on them. There were cameras too, carried by his team. The Capitol residents would be eating it up. Everyone knew Stevee Rogers carried a torch for his mentor. He couldn't have hidden it, not back in those days. That was long before he learned not to wear his heart on his sleeve. 

It was the one piece of gossip that the Capitol reporters had right. 

Maybe it wasn't the most conventional of relationships, but he'd loved her and she'd loved him. Even before the games, when he was still young, he had idolised her. He'd never expected she would feel the same.

She was also the only person he knew he could trust to set him free, which was why she had faked the first stroke. She needed to be out of the Capitol, free to act unhindered. He'd told her to go, and she had.

Between his hands, hidden from view, her fingers curled enough to press to his palm.

There were very few reasons for her to fake being at death's door.

It was one of the only things that would be enough to get him out of the Capitol.

Plans had been put in motion, and this was the start of something. He didn't know the details. He couldn't know the details. It was enough to know that she and her allies were working on something.

He leaned closer to her, pressing his lips to her cheek. She smelled of roses, as always, and her cheek was pale and cool under his lips. "Thank you," he whispered. He felt the soft puff of her breath on his cheek.

It was all for show.

He sat there a little longer, then rose, and went out into the neglected square of the Victor's Village. It was wild and overgrown, all the other houses abandoned and empty. Only Peggy's looked like anyone gave a damn about it.

The crowd from the station had gathered around the edge of the Victor's Village, watching, waiting. He stood between the ornate gates, looking around at them. He wanted to say something, to let them know that everything they thought about him was wrong. He wished he could, but he could also see the Peace Keepers with their fingers on the triggers of their guns, just waiting for him to say or do the wrong thing.

Bucky pushed forward from the crowd. His left arm was in a sling, and he was limping, but he smiled unsteadily. "Hey, stranger," he said.

Don't, Steve wished he could say. Don't be good to me. Don't make it worse for yourself. Just turn around, walk away.

Instead, he raised his hand in greeting. "Barnes," he said. "You been in the wars?"

Bucky's smile was strained. "You know me," he said. "Can't keep out of..." He trailed off, frowning. His eyes weren't on Steve's face. They were on his chest. He looked down and barely had a chance to register the spot of red light on his chest before Bucky slammed into him, bearing him to the ground, as the world erupted in gunfire.

A sharp explosive cry of pain beside his ear was wet with blood.

Bucky's full weight was on him.

Peace Keepers were turning on unseen enemies.

A small ship, unmarked, swung in over the crowd, which scattered. People were screaming. Dust was being tossed up in the air. Repeated gunfire from the ship tore through the fleeing civilians, ripping towards Steve.

He grabbed Bucky's body, arms around him tight, and threw them both sideways out of the line of fire. The fountain in the centre of the square was blown to pieces, and Steve looked up, wildly, searching for the next attack.

There were plans, rebellions being plotted, but Peggy wouldn't have done this. She would never have put civilians in the line of fire. 

Bucky clutched at his arm, coughing blood.

"Run!" he choked. 

Steve scrambled up.

He could run.

In the chaos, he could head for the hills that framed the Victor's Village. He could be free. 

Capitol ships were screaming in overhead, and the enemy ship whirled around, speeding off, but the guns were still firing. People were screaming. His people were screaming and hurt and dying.

Steve's gut clenched in rage.

Someone was killing his people, again, and he had no doubt it would be done in his name.

Not again.

Never again.

"Get inside!" he yelled, running to the other Victor's houses. They were sturdily built, enough to shelter people from a gun battle. 

"You coward!" a man yelled.

Steve looked back at him in contempt, then kicked in one of the doors, urging the survivors in. He ran back and snatched up a couple of kids under his arms, running through the open doors and tossing them in. Women, children, men. He got as many of them to safety as he could, then ran back to Bucky, sprawled in the dirt.

"Go, you ass!" Bucky groaned, as Steve reached down to haul him up. "Get out of here!"

Steve hoisted him up, Bucky's good arm over his shoulder. "Not without you," he snarled.

They were halfway to the nearest building when the first firebomb fell.

It hit the ground a dozen feet in front of them.

The impact tossed them into the air like rag dolls.

As Steve crashed down, clothing ablaze, he saw Bucky land heavily in the dirt.

"Buck..." he whispered, blood in his ears and mouth.

He tried to roll over. The pain, the flames, the impact all closed in on him, and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 1


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of part 2

The monitors were chirping softly.

Peggy set down her empty mug on the table, and shifted her position in the chair beside the bed. Steve was still unconscious, sedated, but his life signs were stronger than they had been. He was laid face-down on the bed, the worst of the burns from the firebombs across his back and left side. The medical team said they were healing at an exceptional rate.

She wasn't surprised.

For all that he had been a lab rat in his teenage years, the results had unexpected blessings, and one of those was the rapid healing capacity of his body. It was fortunate. The injuries inflicted on him would have killed anyone else.

"Carter."

She didn't raise her head. "Fury," she murmured.

"Any change?"

Peggy shook her head. "Stable now," she said, "but no sign of waking yet."

Fury pressed his hand to her shoulder. "We were lucky to get him out of there," he said.

Peggy nodded. She propped her elbows on the arms of the chair, and rested her chin on her folded knuckles. "How many dead?" she asked quietly.

"At least fifteen," Fury replied, his voice just as low. "Maybe more after we cleared out."

Peggy nodded unhappily.

As always, the Capitol had been at least two steps ahead. 

Pierce's paranoia went a long way to ensuring that there were always contingency plans for every possible eventuality. They expected rebellion constantly, and so, always had someone trigger-happy to take a shot in every situation, and lay the blame firmly at the doors of the rebels.

"What happened to the ship? The unmarked one?"

Fury was silent for a moment. "Shot down," he said finally. "No bodies."

"Convenient."

"Yeah." He went to the head of the bed and looked at the monitors, frowning. "At least we had a body to put in your place. Capitol's gonna go nuts when they hear Peggy Carter was killed in the attack."

Peggy nodded silently. They had been waiting for an opportune cadaver, ever since Barnes came to the attention of the Capitol. How generous of the Capitol to provide them in abundance. She looked from Steve to Fury.

“Are our sources compromised?”

He shook his head, turning back to look at her. “We’ve still got eyes on the inside,” he said. He studied her, his frown deepening. “You should rest, Carter. You look like hell.”

She looked down at her blood-, dirt- and soot-matted tunic and trousers. She had no doubts her face looked just as bad. None of the blood was hers, but that didn’t make matters any better. She had barely left Steve’s side since he was carried into her evacuation shuttle. When he was dragged in on a stretcher, unconscious, she was the one to tend him.

“Once he’s awake I’ll rest,” she said.

Fury pursed his lips. “You got an hour,” he said. “If he doesn’t wake by then, I’m getting the doc in here to tranquilise you and you can count sheep alongside your boy.”

She almost smiled wearily. “So imperious,” she said. “One would think you would respect your elders.”

He snorted. “If my elders had any sense, maybe I would.” He touched her shoulder in passing and paused at the door. “An hour,” he reminded her before he headed out into the corridors.

She returned her attention to Steve, wondering how he would react to everything that had happened. It was more than just the start of the rebellion. He was in a hidden underground base, in the heart of the mountains, beyond the reach of the Capitol. Their district had been left behind. Hopefully, they were just presumed dead. 

Peggy didn’t like to imagine the repercussions otherwise.

She rose from the chair, walking around the bed to stretch her legs. There was a medical bay with row upon row of beds, but Steve’s condition was serious enough for him to be allocated one of the smaller rooms. It was little more than a cell, with sterile white walls, and a glass-paned door that looked out into a plain stone corridor.

For all that the Capitol had been his prison, this place actually looked like one.

She was checking the monitors for the umpteenth time when she heard a faint breath behind her.

“Peg?”

She turned sharply, looking down at the bed. Steve was still motionless, but one eyelid was flickering, trying to open. Her heart racing, she knelt down beside the bed, covering the back of his uninjured fingers with her own.

“Steve?” she whispered. “Steve, can you hear me?”

His eye opened enough to look at her. His pupil was dilated, too many painkillers in his system, but she could see the moment he recognised her.

“Hey.” It was barely more than a sigh.

It might have been unseemly, but there were tears on her cheeks, as she rose on her knees and brushed a kiss across his cheekbone. “I have you, my darling boy,” she said softly. “You’re safe now. I have you.”

His eyes slid closed again. His body seemed to sag down against the bedding, as if some taut wire holding him tense had been severed. Even when sedated and in agony, there had been the lingering fear that he was still a prisoner. Now, though, he was resting, peacefully, unafraid.

Peggy blinked away fresh tears, gently smoothing what remained of his hair, much of it burned away. “Rest,” she whispered, straightening up from beside the bed. “We’ll be here when you wake.”

She made her way out into the corridor, bracing her hand against the bare stone. It was only now that she knew he was going to be all right that she could acknowledge her own exhaustion. Her legs gave way and she sat heavily down on the stone floor, too tired to go any further.

That was where Fury found her.

He didn’t even bother reprimanding her. He just gave her the stern look he’d learned from her, picked her up as if she weighed no more than a damp towel, and carried her along the corridor to the room that had been assigned to her. 

There was a plate of food waiting, and as soon as he set her down on the bed, he dragged the table over.

“You’re gonna eat,” he said, “then sleep.”

“I have no say in this matter?”

He checked his watch. “Your hour is up. Rogers is awake,” he replied. “Now, you do what you’re told.”

She had no mind or strength left to protest. The food was plain but filling and she washed it down with a large mug of lukewarm tea. Fury lifted the dishes aside as she lay back against the pillow, and she was almost sure she heard the door close before her eyes did. 

The lights were low when she woke, but the instincts of a survivor from the arena never left you, no matter how many years went by. Someone was in the room with her. Even before she opened her eyes, she could hear them breathing.

She drew a slow breath.

“Hey.”

Her eyes flew open.

She could make out a silhouette slouched in the chair by the bed. “Steve?”

The shape shifted. “Yeah.”

She reached blindly for the switch for the lights, turning them up, half-convinced her mind was playing tricks on her. It wasn’t. Steve raised one bandaged arm to shield his eyes, wincing in pain.

Peggy swung her legs down from the bed. “You should be resting,” she said, getting up. “Your back…”

He lowered his arm to look at her. “I got morphling,” he said, and she could see it in his unfocussed eyes. He had to be in a tremendous amount of pain. He should barely have been able to stand, but here he was. He leaned back in the seat, looking up at her. “Peggy, where’s Bucky?”

She swayed where she stood, then slowly sat down on the edge of the bed.

“What do you remember?” she asked quietly. 

He squinted at her. “I remember coming to your house,” he said slowly, putting each sentence together carefully, word by word. “I remember outside. There was… someone was going to shoot? Bucky…” He shook his head. “I remember fire.”

“Firebombs,” she said quietly. “We think Pierce expected us to rescue you. He wanted to undermine the rebels, by staging a rebel attack on you.”

Steve shook his head, confused. “Why me?”

She leaned down, touching his cheek. “You don’t remember the promos?” she said.

He nodded slowly, like a puzzled child. “They hurt Bucky so I would do more.”

“I know,” she said unhappily. “You were made to look like the Capitol’s ally. Of course the rebels would attack someone allied to the Capitol.” She sighed, stroking his cheek gently. “They set you up, painted a target on your chest, and then dressed someone as one of us to shoot at you.”

“I knew it wasn’t you,” he said with a quiet vehemence that made her heart ache. “Too many civilians hurt.”

His cheek was warm beneath her cool fingers, and she drew her hand back. “We had something similar planned, but this isn’t…” She shook her head. “It wasn’t meant to happen like this, Steve. You must believe that.”

He nodded, pushing himself upright in the seat. “And Bucky? Can I see him?”

She could scarcely meet his eyes, but he deserved the truth after all that had been done to him and his friend in the name of the Capitol. “He was too badly wounded,” she said quietly. “He took a bullet and then the bombs…” Her voice wavered. “Steve, you were barely lucky enough to survive.”

Blue eyes stared at her, blank. “He saved me,” he said.

“I know,” she said softly, “but the firebombs were falling, and he was too badly hurt. We couldn’t save him.”

“No,” Steve said. He sounded confused. “No, that’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Peggy said. “He wanted so very much to save you.”

“No,” Steve said again.

“Steve…”

He pushed himself up unsteadily. “No,” he said. “You didn’t just leave him.” His voice was shaking, like the youth who had just realised he would have to kill to survive the arena, the volunteer who stepped forward to save a child and became a killer instead. “Tell me you didn’t just leave him. We’re not like them. We don’t leave people behind. We don’t, Peggy. Not anymore.”

“If we could have brought him, we would have,” she replied, “but it was too hot. We had to save the living.” She reached out. “Steve, I promise you, we tried…”

Steve’s face crumpled. She’d only seen that expression once before, the night after he was crowned the Victor in the games. That was the first night they had shared a bed, when the nightmares stifled him, and he woke, too afraid to scream. He’d worn the same expression then.

“He’s dead?” he whispered. “Bucky’s dead?”

Peggy’s lips trembled, but she had to be steady and stalwart for him, when he was wounded and weak. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “He was very brave, you know. So very brave.”

The sound Steve made was more painful than a scream, a low, guttural groan that tore from the depth of his chest. He folded down to his knees on the floor, curling in on himself, and she could see the fresh blood from the burns on his back soaking through his robe.

She knelt down beside him, drawing him into her arms as gently as she could. He flinched for a second, then twisted into her embrace.

“Steve,” she whispered, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her too tightly. She could feel the bruises starting to form, his fingers sinking into her skin, but she let him hold on as tightly as he needed to, her arms around him, her beautiful, strong, brave boy, as he buried his face in her belly and choked on desperate, silent sobs.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve didn’t come back to the apartment.

Tasha was worried.

According to the reports shown by the Capitol, he’d come under attack by people in his own district and had been smuggled away for his own protection. They played footage of him talking to President Pierce in the Presidential palace, framed at a distance and out of range of microphones, but she knew it had been recorded weeks before.

Something had happened in the district, and it was being covered up. If Steve was dead, it would be simple. His body would be displayed for rebels and allies alike. He wasn’t dead. At least, if he was, his body hadn’t been found. That left two options: either he was locked up by the Capitol for being allied with the rebels or the rebels had him.

There were always plans in place to get him out, before the Capitol destroyed him completely.

Anyone else who had been treated as badly as he had would have broken long before, but Steve was an exception to the rule. He was stubbornly pig-headed, and he wasn’t one to do what anyone expected of him. Tasha watched him get stronger and harder and prouder with each passing year. The more they took from him, the more determined he became.

He was the wildcard, and always had been.

He was the skinny, sickly kid who had signed up for risky experiments. He was the successful prototype who defied his makers and volunteered for the games. He was the Victor who won with merciful deaths instead of bloody violence. 

Pierce hated him.

He’d spent years trying to destroy the image of the golden boy with the shield from the arena. First, he’d done it by keeping Steve from his district, then by turning him into a whore, then by making him a speaker for the Capitol. 

Anyone who had ever met Steve Rogers would take one look at those propos and see them for the shams they were.

The boy with the shield couldn’t be crushed that easily. 

She watched every piece of footage they aired, curled up on the couch, her arms wrapped around her legs. Most of it was from other events. The only new parts were President Pierce’s talk of punishing the perpetrators and footage of a run of executions from the district.

Tasha shut the screen down as the victims were lined up.

She’d seen enough death in her time.

The apartment felt too big without Steve’s presence, and seeing him on the big screen, without his biting commentary on top, felt wrong. 

She showered in the smaller bathroom, wrapped herself in her robe, and after two hours of staring blankly at the wall of her own bedroom, she went through to his private room. She had never made herself a private room. They’d stripped away too much of her identity for that.

Steve’s room was different.

He’d been someone, before he volunteered. He had friends. He had interests. He had sixteen summers of living without being prepped to kill. 

Drawings and paintings were scattered around on the floor and work table. It always smelled faintly of paper and ink in there, and there was something comforting about it. She padded over to the bed, curling up on the sheets, and drawing his blanket around her.

It wasn’t the same, but it was better than nothing.

She was woken when the main door chimed, rolling out of the bed onto her feet before the echoes around the apartment even faded. A glance at the clock told her it was early in the morning, well before dawn. There was no reason for anyone to be coming to the apartment. Unless it was Steve.

Her heart was racing as she snatched up one of his art knives, just as a precaution, and slipped out into the hallway that opened into the main room.

The lights were on and the doors were open, so no chance of the element of surprise.

It wasn’t Steve.

A single figure was standing by the window, hands folded behind her back.

Tasha knew she hadn’t made a sound, but the woman turned and looked straight at her. May. She was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing when she collected Steve two days earlier, but they looked more ragged around the edges now. There were rips on one sleeve, burns, and Tasha could swear she saw bloodstains.

May’s face gave nothing away.

“I apologise for the lateness of my visit,” she said, inclining her head politely. 

“I was up anyway,” Tasha lied, watching her warily. She wasn’t sure what to make of the woman. 

May glanced at the knife in Tasha’s hand. “That won’t be necessary.”

Tasha reluctantly laid the knife down on the nearest surface, and curled her hand into a fist. “What can I do for you?” she said. 

“You have seen the footage from the districts,” May said, her eyes holding Tasha’s. “You know there have been some… problems.”

Tasha nodded, mouth dry. “Is Steve all right?”

“As the reports showed, Stevee Rogers is in the protection of the President,” May said, her expression placid. She was lying. Tasha could tell. “I have been asked to do some security checks, to ensure that there won’t be any other problems like this.”

Security checks.

Tasha knew Steve had been one of the tools they used to manipulate her. Without him, they didn’t know if she would become a liability. Why else would they send one of their security handlers to her in the middle of the night?

“My implant?” she said quietly.

May inclined her head. “Recalibration is required,” she said. 

Tasha swayed where she stood. 

Her life had been out of her control since her childhood, and the implant on her spine was just one of a long line of indignities done to her. They used it like a choke-chain, to hold her back and keep her from misbehaving, and if they were tightening the chain again…

“Zola?” she asked.

May shook her head. “I have dealt with implants like this before,” she said. “We can do it now.”

Tasha stared at her.

In the days and weeks before he left, Steve had managed to tell her his suspicions about May: he believed she might have ties to the rebels, even if he couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure of it. It was suspicious, especially given how highly ranked May was within the security services.

“Romanoff?”

Tasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “What do you need to do?” she asked. 

“There will be a couple of minor cuts made, to allow access, but it should be painless.”

Tasha found that hard to believe. 

Still, it wasn’t like she had a choice.

“There’s a table in the gymnasium,” she said, turning her back on the woman and walking away. May followed her in silence, as Tasha walked through to the gymnasium. 

The table was the little-used massage bar, and Tasha shed her clothes without any thought of embarrassment or shame. It was very difficult to be ashamed of anything anymore, when the Capitol bought and sold nude images of you dating back as far back as ten years.

“Face-down,” May said quietly, crouching down to open out a case.

Tasha lay on her belly, burying her face in her folded arms, and concentrated on breathing. She felt the sting of the anaesthesia, then the spreading numbness. At least May bothered with that. Zola wouldn’t have cared. Zola always enjoyed his work a bit too much.

Tasha kept her breathing slow and even, even when she felt pressure or May’s touch on the implant low on her spine and the tickle of blood over her sides.

May didn’t speak as she worked, and when she finally stepped back, peeling off the medi-gloves, she only said, “Don’t move for five minutes. The bandage mesh is settling.”

Tasha nodded, her fingers biting into her upper arms. She felt the cool brush the blood being cleaned up, and then the returning ache as the anaesthetic faded. May was still packing up her medical tools when Tasha slowly sat up.

“You can remove the bandages in six hours,” she said. “By then, the skin will have started healing over. The wound should be closed and fully healed within thirty-six hours, with only minor scarring.”

“Same operational protocols as before?” Tasha said, her hands resting loosely in her lap.

May met her eyes. “The programming has been restricted to specific people,” she said. “President Pierce wanted me to ensure that you would not be compromised.”

So Pierce believed he had traitors in his nest, to the extent that he wanted to be the one with his finger on the hair-triggers of some of his most dangerous weapons. If he was tightening the controls on her, Tasha knew that meant he intended to use her.

“Should I limit exertion for the next thirty-six hours?”

May nodded. “I have communicated the changes to the President,” she said. “He will ensure that there are no duties required of you until the wounds are healed.”

Tasha slid down from the table, folding her hands together in front of her belly. “Thank you for your time,” she said.

May inclined her head. “And your cooperation,” she replied.

Tasha walked her as far as the door, and waited until she was gone before retreating back to Steve’s room again. She had no idea what other plans Pierce had for her, but without Steve as to lessen the impact, it wasn’t going to be good. 

She slipped back under the covers of the bed, reaching back to touch the bandage over the wound on her spine. The numbness was fading little by little, but the shape of the bandage under her fingertips made her frown.

There was something there, something hard beneath the bandages.

They wouldn’t leave a visible mark on her, not when she had to entertain Pierce’s coterie, which meant there was something in the layers of the bandage. 

In the dark, she knew she would be watched with infrared cameras, so she bunched the covers up over her, as if she was curled in a ball. She kept her breathing even, and slowly slipped one finger beneath the edge of the bandages. 

They clung to the skin, but she drew them up little by little.

The object beneath them was metallic, warmed by the proximity to her skin. She carefully and slowly pulled it free. A small, round metal object. She ran her thumb across the surface, and her heart leapt when she felt the familiar pattern of circles around a star. Steve’s shield. She turned it over in the darkness, ran her thumb across the back, and felt his initials there.

The last time she had seen the pin, it was on Barnes’ shirt, weeks before.

Steve had told her it came from his mentor, Peggy Carter. She’d heard all about Carter, and knew she had to be a formidable woman, to survive not just the games but the Capitol’s machinations for over forty years.

May had been to Steve’s district with him when the rebel attack happened.

May had returned, and was clearly trusted enough by Pierce to work high in his security detail. 

May had brought the token of the rebellion right into the heart of the Capitol and given it to Tasha, in an unspoken reassurance that Steve was in the hands of the rebels, with Peggy Carter. 

Tasha wrapped her hand around the pin tightly. 

Once, long ago, Steve had promised that if he ever got out of the Capitol, he would come back for her. Then, she had laughed at him, unable to believe someone could be so innocent. She had been stuck in her cage for years already, and he was only just learning the limitations of the world around them. 

Now, he was free, and they had allies, and suddenly, he didn’t seem so naïve anymore.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve’s body was almost entirely healed. The burns left faint scars, but from experience, Peggy knew those would also fade with time. 

He was, however, far from well. 

As much as the rebellion had hoped to turn him into their icon, he wasn’t ready and she wasn’t about to let them drag him back in front of the cameras to recite by rote everything they handed him. He needed time to gather himself, and she had authority enough to ensure it. 

Intelligence had filtered in from the district in their absence.

From the reports running on the Capitol-issued media, there had been no mention of the violence done to the people of the district. The attack on Steve was covered and given a gloss of Capitol-heroism, brave soldiers protecting the Capitol’s beloved son.

The old footage of Steve cosying up to Pierce made her switch the screen off. 

They could make people believe whatever they wanted, and now, they were keeping Steve’s image as their weapon. They’d had him for so long, people would believe it, even if Steve wasn’t seen in public for weeks at a time.

Her own supposed death only got a mention three days after the attack, and was put down to health problems, exacerbated by how badly the rebels in their district had treated Steve. She almost wanted to laugh. Of course they would use it for their own purposes.

She left the viewing room, and the people looking at her in expectation, to go to Steve’s private room.

Only a handful of people had access to it for the good of his health. The last thing he needed was to be poked and prodded and urged to act.

She opened the door. Steve was sitting cross-legged on the bed, sketching in a pad. She didn’t have to tilt her head to guess who he was drawing again.

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly. 

He looked down at his hands, and the faint patina of scar-tissue on them. “Alive,” he said. “Any news?”

She sat down on the chair beside his bed. “Our sources in the Capitol say that they’re doing a stellar job of covering up your disappearance,” she said. “The official story is that you’re in hiding there, with the President, and that it was local rebels who attacked you. I, meanwhile, have died tragically of natural causes, made worse by the treason of our district.”

Steve closed up his book. “Bullshit,” he said.

“It always is,” she said. She hesitated, then added, “Tasha is safe, for now.”

Steve’s eyes met hers. “You’re sure?”

“The President has increased security around her, but right now, she’s probably safer than any of us are.”

Steve swung his legs down from the bed. “I told her if I ever got out, I’d come back for her.”

“We’re not ready for an assault of that scale,” Peggy murmured. “We’ll get her. She’s safe.”

He looked at her, his expression grim. “You know what they did to us there,” he said. “Can you really say that?”

She knew she couldn’t. She shook her head. “They don’t believe she had any part in your disappearance,” she said finally, “and she’s still useful to them for now. I know it’s not much, but it’s all we have.”

Steve rubbed at his eyes. “I know,” he said more quietly. “God, I know I’m lucky to be out.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t have to live like this. Die like this.”

Peggy lifted her hand to catch one of his. “The rebellion is growing,” she assured him.

He looked at her hand on his, then looked at her face. When he leaned down and kissed her briefly on the lips, she knew without doubt it was the last time he would do it. He rested his brow against hers when he was done. “May the odds be ever in our favour,” he whispered.

It was said so bleakly, and she was unsurprised. For all that people he knew had died, none of them had ever been as close to him as Barnes. His loss was a terrible blow. 

Peggy had never expected the rebellion to be bloodless, but Barnes was so very young, and had died far too soon. 

She rose from the chair and embraced Steve again, smoothing his hair gently. “There’s so much to be done,” she said quietly. “The Capitol would have the world believe you died at the hands of the rebels. We need to muster our allies and turn the fight back on them.”

Steve sat up, lifting his head. “My shield,” he said.

“What of it?”

He slid down off the bed. “If I’m going to do this, I need my shield,” he said. “People recognise it. If I carry it, people will know it’s me, and if they know it’s me, it’ll make a difference.”

She nodded. He, of all people, would know the importance of image. 

When he first came out of the arena, he was the boy with the shield. They took the shield from him right away, because the symbolism of a guardian and protector was not what they needed in a victor. Instead, they gave him clothes and luxury and gold tattoos. They took a protector and turned him into a painted creature of the Capitol. 

The shield wasn’t just his defence in the arena. It was the identity he had made for himself and the one the Capitol had stolen away from him. It was the tool of the boy who killed with mercy in the arena. It was what he had been before they dressed him and sold him like meat.

“There were rumours,” she said, “that they intended to display it along with other trophies donated by victors.”

“Donated,” he echoed bitterly. “Of course.”

“I’ll have Fury contact our sources,” she said, “see if it can’t be brought out of hiding. If worst comes to worst, we can cobble together something like it.”

It was the point of the matter, though. The shield was an icon of its own, built by Steve’s own hands in the heart of the arena.

“If they can’t find it,” he reluctantly agreed. He glanced towards the door. “Guess I can’t hide in here anymore, huh? Shield or no shield,” he said, taking a deep breath. He looked at her. “They won’t expect me to lead them, will they?”

“They’ll expect you to be like any one of us,” she replied, slipping her arm through his. “We have half a dozen Victors here. People know what we’re like.”

Steve’s mouth curved into something close to a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re special,” he said.

Peggy patted his arm. “We’re survivors,” she said. “We’ve done it before, and we will continue to do it, as much as the Capitol dislikes it.”

The rest of the rebels in the base had been briefed well enough to treat him with courtesy and respect due a survivor. 

Steve’s role in the Capitol had been glossed over, because the upper levels of the rebellion felt it was unnecessary for him to be shamed by his past. As far as the rebel forces knew, Steve had been a captive in the Capitol. He had been blackmailed and tortured into compliance. That was all they needed to know, until Steve was ready to say anything else.

One of the men who had escaped the district with them strode out of the crowd as soon as he saw Steve. He was a big man, with a thick shock of hair, and he caught Steve in an embrace that might have cracked a rib of a lesser man.

“Great to have you back, kid,” he said.

Steve looked gratified, but surprised. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we… have we met?”

The man grasped his shoulder. “Timothy Dugan,” he said. “I used to work alongside your buddy, Barnes. He was a good guy.”

Peggy could see Steve’s expression wavering.

“Yeah,” he said. “He was.”

“And a dumbass,” Dugan continued in the same jovial tone. “God, that kid liked helping people way too much for his own good. I swear to god, he almost got the pair of us beaten up more than once.” He shook his head. “Stubborn jackass.”

To Peggy’s surprise and relief, Steve’s face broke into a broader smile. “That sounds like Buck,” he said, and he grasped Dugan’s arm. “Thanks. For telling me.”

Others came forward then, some with kind words for Steve, other with remembrances about Barnes, all of them offering him support where he had no doubt expected to find none. 

Part of Peggy wanted to drive them back, to give him time to gather his strength, but he had been cut off and isolated from his own people for far too long. These were the people he had sacrificed himself for. They were the people who wanted to offer up their thanks now.

By the time the gathering was called to order, Steve was pale and swaying from exertion. He sat close to the front, Peggy beside him, and his hand blindly found hers. She wasn’t surprised to feel the tremor in his fingers.

There was little to be said that she and Steve didn’t know already. The rebellion wasn’t ready to make a move yet, but now, there were more people in hiding with them, more mouths to feed, and the timetable had to be brought forward. Steve’s presence was a key factor. People would look to him, and listen to him, even if they didn’t know it yet.

As the meeting dispersed, Steve was still sitting, gazing at the platform that was occupied by Fury and the other leaders. 

“They need to get the word out that I’m not dead,” he said finally.

“We have time for that.”

Steve looked at her. “No,” he said. “The longer we stall, the longer the Capitol will have to put something into place. You know what they’re like, Peggy. They’re probably having someone cut to look like me already. We need to get my face out there, let them know who I am and who I stand with.”

Peggy squeezed his fingers. “We have people who would be able to get messages onto the airwaves,” she said, “but it’ll mean more propos, and I know you can’t possibly want to do more of those.”

The muscles in his features tightened, but he shook his head. “What I want doesn’t matter right now,” he said. “I’ve seen people beaten and killed to make me say what they wanted me to say. Now, I’m choosing what I say and when I say it.”

“They may come after the districts,” she said quietly.

“They’ll do that anyway,” Steve replied. He met her eyes. “If we don’t start fighting back now, if we wait any longer, they’ll bury us before we even get started.”

She gazed back at him, then nodded. “As soon as you’re ready,” she said.

“No,” he said. “There’s no time. I need to do it now, Peggy. We need to get my face out there, tell them that the districts have someone to protect them.” He blew out a shaking breath. “I’ve been sitting behind closed doors and walls for long enough already.”

“You’ve been protecting them, even then,” she said, her voice rising. “Steve, your life was forfeit for everyone in our district!”

“And they don’t know that,” he said. “It’s time they know what the Capitol is doing.” His grip was tight on her hand. “Please, Peggy. Help me do this. Get me in front of the camera before I change my mind. Get me out there. I need…” His voice shook and broke. “I need to be doing something. I can’t just be sitting here, waiting, knowing people are getting hurt and killed and I’m not doing anything to stop it.”

She nodded, matching his grip. “If that’s what you want.” 

“It’s not,” he replied, “but it’s what I need.”


	14. Chapter 14

Steve was safe.

It was only by chance that Tasha was watching the broadcasts when the rebels managed to hack onto the Capitol’s system. 

Suddenly, the wall was filled with an image of Steve. He looked different, his hair shaved away to nothing, stubble on his chin, scars visible on one side of his neck, but he wasn’t the smiling, pandering lap-dog that the Capitol had been presenting for years.

He looked dangerous.

When he spoke, it wasn’t the amiable, cheerful Stevee of the Capitol propos. It was the Steve Tasha knew from days sparring in the gymnasium, and nights pressed against one another, whispering their helpless rage in the dark. It was the Steve that the Capitol had put a chain on and locked in a cage, because he was too dangerous to be free.

He didn’t have much time to say anything. The hack had to be taking a lot of time and resources, but he managed to confirm yeah, he was alive, no, he wasn’t coming back to the Capitol, and he really, really wasn’t happy with how things were. 

Tasha’s heart was pounding hard as the image cut out.

Less than five minutes later, an emergency broadcast kicked in, trying to calm the confusion and panic that Steve had caused. Tasha couldn’t help grinning as she got up and switched the projection off. They had kept him locked up for a long time. Retribution was on its way.

She was still smiling when she slipped between the sheets of his bed, hours later.

Letting her guard down was a mistake.

She was dragged from the bed without warning, the lights blazing white-bright, blinding her. She kicked and swore and screamed as they dragged her from the room, only sagging when one of the guards sank a tranquiliser needle deep into her neck. 

Her second waking was just as harsh, a bucket of ice-water dashed on her.

Tasha scrambled up, gasping and choking. Her vision was clouded, but she could make out metal walls on all sides, and only one door. A man was standing on a step at the doorway, framed by two of the white-uniformed guards. One of the guards was holding the empty bucket. The other was holding an electric stun baton. 

She was standing in a pool of water in a metal room. They were on a raised, grounded surface. The threat was clear enough. 

“Good evening, Miss Romanoff.”

She recognised President Pierce’s voice before she recognised his face.

“Sir,” she choked out.

He remained standing where he was, watching her as if she was some kind of science experiment. “I realise you are among the unfortunate people who saw the attempted hack by the rebels,” he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“You mean I saw Steve?” she whispered. 

Pierce sighed. “Mr Rogers has made some unfortunate decisions,” he said. “Choosing to make an enemy of the Capitol being foremost among them.”

“You made him what he is, Mr President,” Tasha said quietly, spreading her hands on the wall to keep herself from falling. 

Pierce didn’t look away from her. “A brief shock, I think,” he said, and the guard touched the baton to the pool of water.

The pain knocked her to her knees, but she clenched her teeth and didn’t make a sound. Her muscles were in spasm, and even after the baton was lifted away, she could feel her limbs twitching. It took all her self-control to lift her head and look up at the men.

Pierce was still watching her dispassionately. “We have a job for you, Miss Romanoff,” he said. “You were impressive in your games, and have since proven to be a capable fighter. The footage of your training with Mr Rogers was enlightening.”

She grimaced, wondering if their nightly sparring sessions had made it onto the black market along with the footage of the one occasion they were forced to have sex. Probably. The Capitol always did like to milk their favourite cash cow until it was all dried out.

“You wanted us to stay in shape,” she said. “It wasn’t training. It was exercise.”

Pierce smiled slightly. “I’m not an idiot, Miss Romanoff. I have eyes. You and Rogers were training together, and you fought with one another.”

“And?” She managed to get back to her feet, leaning back against the wall. “You’re what? Going to send me after him to bring him down?” She laughed tightly. “Hate to say it, but I wouldn’t stand a chance. He’s still stronger and faster than I am.”

“We remember,” Pierce murmured. “He has the advantage on you, it’s true, but you can make yourself useful to us.”

She eyed him warily. “How?”

“You know how Rogers fights,” he said. “We need you to train someone. Someone not unlike Rogers himself.”

Tasha’s mouth felt dry. “The Rebirth programme?”

Pierce’s smile widened, reminding her of a snake. “So he told you about it?” He withdrew one hand from his pocket to straighten his tie. “The project wasn’t a complete success, but Zola has adapted the elements used. Rogers might think he’s something special, but he’s nothing more than one of our projects, and all we need is another to bring him in.”

Tasha leaned back against the wall. "Why would I help you?"

He watched her thoughtfully. "Ah, yes," he murmured. "You have no care for anyone but him, do you, Miss Romanoff? Not even your own well-being." 

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. They had the implant, and they could hurt her, but if it was a choice between that and teaching someone how to beat Steve, she knew what her choice would be. 

Pierce reached into his pocket and withdraw a small disc, flicking a switch. An image coalesced of a fair-haired young man. He was working in an engineering facility bent over a work bench. She could see small devices set behind his ears.

Tasha knew her face gave away nothing, but her heart was racing.

A long time ago, she'd known a boy, when she was still being educated with the other children of district three. Ten years was a long time. A person could change a lot in that time. There was no reason to believe it was him. Not even with the hearing aids and right hair colour and build.

"Who is he?" she asked as dismissively as she could.

The image winked out. "You know," Pierce said.

She wanted to ask why bother with the implant, if they knew there was someone they could use, but when she met Pierce's eyes, when she saw his lazy smile, she knew why. They needed an ace in the hole, in case all other measures failed. 

They had found Steve's Achilles' heel in Barnes. Now, they had cameras on the one person she might care about.

She kept her expression impassive, her fingers spread on the wall to keep them from shaking.

"He wrote to you, you know," Pierce said, slipping the disc into his pocket. "After the games, and every time you went back to the district. Very touching letters. He mentioned something about an apple, and getting better."

Tasha clenched her teeth, fighting down the urge to strike out. If there was any question of young man's identity, that statement cemented it. She knew her silence was saying as much as screaming at him, and Pierce was still smiling.

"Perhaps you need some time to consider your choice," he said. He waved the guards back. "Gentlemen, Miss Romanoff would like to take an hour. Send word to district three to fetch the boy."

It wasn't necessary, and he knew it.

"I'll do it."

Pierce, half-turned towards the door, looked back at her. "What was that, Miss Romanoff?"

She straightened up from the wall. "I'll train your soldier," she said, her voice tight.

Pierce smiled. "Good," he said, "but I do dislike having to ask more than once."

The baton touched the water again, and this time, stayed there.

When she came round, the cell was dark and she was lying on the cold, wet floor. She pushed herself upright, her arms shaking with effort, and sat back against the wall. Her breathing echoed back on her in the darkness, and she wrapped her arms around her legs.

They were probably still watching her.

She wouldn't give them the pleasure of watching her break.

Her fingers bit into her legs, and she stared into nothing.

Steve was safe. Barton wasn't. Steve had support and could look after himself now. She had to focus on keeping herself and Barton alive, no matter what the Capitol asked of her.

A shiver ran through her.

When they finally opened the door, and light washed in over her, she was on her feet, upright and ready.

Four guards were waiting outside, and framed her as they led her down the corridors. She was in a building she didn't know, the polished walls lined with doors. Cells, no doubt. Pierce's private playground. 

Her feet felt like blocks of ice on the cold floor, and she had to clench her teeth together to keep them from chattering. It was better not to look weak in front of them, she knew that.

They wove through a series of corridors and elevators, until she was walking onto the road and into a shuttle. Two of the guards stayed with her. The other two remained behind, and Tasha clasped her hands together in front of her, staring blankly out of the window.

They didn't take her back to the apartment.

They didn't even take her to a part of the Capitol she recognised. 

The building she was finally led into was a towering structure, unsettlingly dark and windowless at the bottom, rising to a gleaming spire at the top. Tasha's feet were raw and aching as she was steered into yet another elevator.

The doors opened into a sterile, dimly-lit room. There was a broad desk by the windows, the spread of the Capitol visible behind it, far below. The figure at the desk raised her face.

May.

She rose, straightening up, and Tasha straightened up between her guards.

"Romanoff," May murmured. "Welcome to the security hub." She nodded to the guards, who turned and marched away. "I expect you have been informed why you are here?"

Tasha nodded. It had to be for training their new soldier. It was only an added concern that they had brought her to the most secure building in the Capitol. That wasn't somewhere anyone could escape from. 

May motioned for her to follow.

Tasha fell into step behind her.

"Your duties have been restricted," May informed her. "You will not return to your apartment or your previous position. You will remain resident here. You will train to optimum fitness. You will fulfil your new duties. You will not be distracted by parties or the company of others."

Tasha looked at her in surprise. That was something she hadn't expected or hoped for. 

"Yes, ma'am," she said. 

May led her through the building and into a long, empty corridor. Access was granted by retinal scan and fingerprints. 

"Your assigned quarters are here," she said. "Your implant will limit your access. You will be given your assignments every morning. You will follow them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The door to her quarters opened. It was a basic set of rooms, nowhere near the luxury of the other apartment. It was more like the rooms she'd had growing up.

"Your briefing pack for today is on the table," May said, then stepped back. The door slid closed, sealing Tasha in.

Tasha crossed the floor to the standard metal table and opened the file lying there. There were a dozen pages, which she set aside as her fingers encountered metal. Steve’s pin. May had fetched it from her room, keeping it concealed from the Capitol.

At least, she thought, she had one friend.


	15. Chapter 15

The ships were screaming overhead.

Peggy took cover behind a collapsed grain silo, a dozen children rushing with her as she gestured them closer. 

It was meant to be a brief foray into Ten, to provide support and medical supplies to a district already beaten down by the Capitol. No one was meant to know about their presence. Maybe they didn’t, but Peggy was not one to believe in coincidences, especially not when the Capitol was concerned.

“Carter?” Steve’s voice rang through her radio.

“I’ve got cover,” she replied. “Civilians with me. I’ll get them underground. Count?”

There was radio silence for a moment.

“We have four ships.” It was a woman’s voice. Hill. She was one of the people Fury had brought with him from Three, their communications expert. “Two are holding steady, but two are doing random strikes.”

“I’ll draw their fire,” Steve’s voice cut across hers. 

“Get to the town hall,” Fury commanded. “It’s the highest point of the town, and we’re getting people the hell away from it.”

“Anyone inside?”

“Negative. Evac was underway after the first hit.”

“Copy,” Steve snapped tersely.

Peggy looked out over the ruins of the silo. Buildings were burning. Bodies were scattered on the ground, people who had been fleeing one bombing only to be hit by another. The entrance to the underground transport system wasn’t too far away.

She turned back to the fleet of children looking at her. 

“All right,” she said briskly. “We need to get to the underground. It’ll be safe there.” She scanned the faces. “I’ll need two of you bigger children to carry the littlest ones. We’ll have to move quickly before the smoke clears. Can you do that?”

There were nervous nods, and she scooped up the smallest child. He was barely four years old, rigid with fear. Two of the older children picked up the youngest members of the group.

“Now,” she said, “I want you to follow me, quickly and carefully. It’s going to be loud and frightening out there, but once we’re underground, we’ll be safe.”

The cluster bombs dropped by the jet were exploding at intervals, and Peggy’s heart was in her mouth as she led the procession of frightened children across the wide open ground. They would be a fine target, she knew, but staying where they were was just as dangerous.

The boy in her arms was crying, and she held him tighter, motioning the other children to hurry ahead, so she could bring up the rear. Gunfire overhead made them stumble to a halt, each of them colliding with the one in front.

“No, no,” she urged as gently as she could. “We need to get underground. Come along. Keep moving.”

The ground ahead of them was pock-marked with burning craters, and more than one of them stumbled. They were coughing and choking on the smoke, and one of them screamed as bombs hit the town hall, the building erupting in flames. One of the boys panicked, bolting, and ran straight into oncoming fire, the bullets bursting through him as if he was a paper doll.

The air was full of screams, and the children broke, running and tripping and falling. Peggy felt frozen for a split-second, as a girl was all but torn in half right in front of her. It was only a second, but it was long-enough to see another child die.

She lunged forward, calling for them to follow her. She couldn’t chivvy them all along, so she ran ahead, setting the first down and rushing back for another, and another. A young woman ran with her, and then an older man, until all of the surviving children were safe underground.

Some were crying, some were bleeding, all were terrified. The staircases were lined with people, and she sagged, panting, onto the step. Her chest was aching unbearably, and she could feel the hot stickiness of blood on her skin. She didn’t know if it was hers or someone else’s. 

“Report,” she rasped into her radio.

“Rogers has taken down one of the ships, and has drawn the fire to City Hall.” The stairwell felt suddenly silent, the echo of Hill’s words carried from mouth to mouth. “The Commandos are working on taking down another. Rogers is taking the lead.”

Peggy closed her eyes. She didn’t know if it was relief or worry or grief, or perhaps a mix of all three. 

“Keep us informed,” she said, then signed off, letting the radio drop to her lap.

The screams were fading to soft sobs and whimpers. Beyond the stairs, through the open doorway, the roar of gunfire and blasts of bombs could be heard. Peggy counted the time between each blast under her breath. They were regular, repeating cycles. The span between them was widening. That was promising. Or that was fatal. Perhaps they had hit their targets after all.

The radio crackled.

“Two more ships have been taken down,” Hill’s voice rang out. “The last one has retreated.”

A ragged chorus of cheers rumbled down the stairs, into the darkness of the tunnels as the news spread. It was good news, Peggy had to agree. They could go out without seeing children reduced to ribbons in front of them.

People started to make their way back towards the light. The world above was burning, but it was light and there was air.

She slid sideways on the step to lean against the wall, the stone cool against her temple.

“Hill,” she finally asked in a hoarse whisper, “Rogers?”

“Alive and well,” Hill replied at once. “Where are you, Carter?”

“Station,” she replied. The radio felt heavy in her hand, and she let it drop again. The wall was cool and she was tired. Her chest ached dreadfully. If she just rested for a moment, then she would be able to get up and find Steve.

In the end, he was the one to find her.

She wasn’t even aware of it then, and she was insensible to his presence until she woke up in the medical bay, the lights dimmed around her. Monitors were chirping again, but this time, it was not in time to Steve’s steady heartbeat. 

Peggy blinked at the ceiling, trying to recall how she came to be there.

“So you finally decided to rejoin the land of the living, huh?”

Peggy tilted her head. Fury was standing by the door, arms folded. He was out of his heavy overcoat and she could see bandages around his ribs. “You were wounded?”

He glanced at his arm, then back. “Scratched up by debris,” he said dismissively. “Least I didn’t have a heart attack when I pushed myself too far.”

“Who…” Peggy paused. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Fury echoed. “Damned right oh.” He approached the bed. “Rogers is checking in on his other guys, but he’s going to be back soon.”

Peggy looked up at him. “I’m base-bound from now,” she guessed. 

“He already lost Barnes,” Fury said. “No telling what would happen if he lost you too.”

“I’m not a china doll, Fury,” she said, pushing herself up on the bed. Even that made her ache and her breath catch. It was enough to make her subside back against the pillow.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re a sixty-ish woman who has been living on a knife-edge for more than forty years, and the knife-edge is starting to catch up.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Carter, you’re the one who started all this. You gotta be here when it ends.”

She reached out and patted his hand. “I’m not dead yet,” she murmured.

He turned his hand over and wrapped it around hers. “You better not be.”

They were still sitting together when Steve entered the room. 

For all that she was bed-bound, he was the one who looked like he should be. He clearly hadn’t had the time to clean up since the battlefield, his vest still stained with dried blood. His face had been patched, but there were stitches across his brow, and she could see lacerations and bruises on his bare arms. There was a bandage around his right, and the deep red stain told her gunshot.

She pushed herself up against the pillows. “You’re hurt.”

He waved it away. “It’s healing already,” he said. He glanced at Fury. “You mind giving us a minute?”

“I got places to be anyway,” Fury said, getting up. “Was just keeping eyes on her until you were done with visiting hours. Never know if she’ll run off again.”

Steve watched him go, then looked at Peggy. “They told me you saved those kids,” he said.

She closed her eyes, leaning back against the pillows. “Not enough of them,” she murmured. “And you took down the ships? Both of them?”

She heard the creak of the chair as he sat down beside the bed. 

“I only took out one of them,” he demurred. “The other one was some of the guys.” He laughed tiredly. “I don’t know where the hell they found a rocket launcher. I think they taped it together from pipes from one of the factories.”

She opened her eyes to look at him, and offered her hand. “I’m glad you’re here with us, Steve,” she said. “I know we can’t do much, but it’s a damned sight more than we could do within the districts.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “Too much in your case,” he said. She could see him steeling himself to say something she wouldn’t want to hear. “I know you want to be on the front line and out there fighting. God knows this is your fight as much as anyone’s, but…”

“But I would be a liability,” she finished for him, her voice quiet. “To be honest, I don’t think I would be able to fight in this state anyway. Maybe it would be better if I worked with Hill on strategy.”

He looked relieved. “I was hoping you would see it that way,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Don’t get me wrong, Carter, I wanted you there by my side, but if it’s making you sick, we can’t risk it. You’re in charge here. We can’t lose you.”

She heard the words that went unsaid.

I can’t lose you.

He had already lost so much of himself, and now, his loved ones were falling away. He was still grieving for Bucky, and sometimes, at night, he walked the halls of the bunkers, too drawn and worried to sleep. 

He had a friend in the Capitol, the girl Tasha. They couldn’t get her out, not yet, but they had done all they could to ensure some level of safety. It wasn’t saying much. Being trapped in the Capitol and a friend of a known rebel meant she was watched constantly. Still, they had word she had been moved off the sexual services tasks.

According to reports, she was training in combat. No one could say why or who she was training with, and even their contact wasn’t certain, but it was better than the position she had been in before, and Steve appreciated that too. 

Peggy tugged on his hand, and he leaned closer to the bed.

“I want you to do something for me,” she said quietly.

“Anything you want, Peggy,” he murmured. 

“I want you to go and find a fresher. Two rations of water. You get mine as well. I want you to get clean and fed, and when you’re done, I want you to get some rest.”

One side of his mouth turned up. “Is that an order, Chief?” he said, a suggestion of a glint in his eyes.

“If it has to be,” she said. “You look like hell, Rogers.”

“Pot and kettle,” he replied, but he rose. He was almost smiling. He leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her brow. “I’ll see you come morning.”

She smiled. “Sleep well.”


	16. Chapter 16

The training facilities were top of the line.

Tasha couldn't help remembering the tribute training centre from her games. It felt the same: lining up for battle against others who were victims of the system as much as she was.

The only difference was that this time she was alone. 

For the first couple of days, she kept waiting for them to bring in the new soldier she was expected to train, but when he didn't show, she knew better than to ask questions. If she was to be left alone to build up her strength, so be it. It was a blessed respite, after years of being handed around like a piece of meat.

She was being watched, of course. There was nowhere in the Capitol that they would trust her to go unsupervised. On her first count, she had spotted at least three cameras in her apartment. Since then, she had located two bugs and another four cameras. For her own amusement, she gave each of them a wave every morning when she left her accommodations to go to the adjoining training room. If it annoyed anyone, all to the good.

It was a week before she had visitors.

She was in the training room when the doors opened. 

Tasha saw the glimpse of President Pierce in the corner of her eye. How inconvenient - and predictable - that he had chosen to visit of the day when she was working on basic floor exercises. It was a strange comfort knowing he still feared her enough to wait until she was unarmed and exhausted from hours of working out.

She finished the routine she was doing, then turned to face him. He was accompanied by his usual bodyguards, with May standing several paces behind him, wearing a neutral expression.

"President Pierce." Tasha schooled her expression into a smile. "To what do I owe the honour?" 

"You've been progressing well," he replied. "We feel you are ready to meet your student."

Tasha kept her limbs loose, fighting the urge to clench her fists. "Yes, sir."

Pierce made a sharp gesture with one hand, motioning May forward. "Check her."

It seemed he didn't trust her to be completely unarmed, despite her form-fitting training gear. May searched her, then nodded to confirm she was weaponless. "Cuffs, sir?"

"That will be unnecessary," Pierce replied. He was smiling his thin, reptile smile, his eyes fixed on Tasha's face. "I trust you can handle one little girl who knows the price of misbehaviour."

"As you say, sir," May said blandly.

Pierce motioned for them to follow him. May fell into step beside Tasha, matching her pace. Tasha glanced at her from the corner of her eye, and could see the tension in May's face. Looked like she knew more about where they were going, and she wasn't happy about it.

They descended to the shuttle bay, and Pierce took one of the two shuttles waiting there. Tasha was led to the other, and she wasn't surprised when a black bag was dropped down over her face.

"Necessity, I'm afraid," May said.

Tasha didn't need to know more. They were taking her somewhere secure, a location Pierce wanted to keep from her. Everyone knew the rumours about the Capitol's secret facilities. What they were used for was the subject of fearful speculation.

The journey lasted at least an hour, possibly close to two.

When they came into land, the bag was left in place. May took Tasha by the arm, guiding her out of the shuttle. From the sounds of it, they were in a vast hangar, and she could make out distant voices, orders being given.

May led her onwards through a series of doors and corridors, turning her about so many times, she knew she would be hopelessly lost if she even tried to break free or try and find out where she was.

When the bag was finally removed, she blinked at the dazzling light. She was in a large, plushly-furnished room, with one wall open and overlooking the room below. Acid rose in her throat. A spectator gallery. It was the first time she'd been on this side.

President Pierce was already standing by the forcefield that separated them from the other room, watching whatever was going on with detached interest. "Join me," he said without turning.

Tasha glanced around. Aside from May, Pierce was alone. That spoke of a level of trust that was both terrifying and reassuring. He thought May was his loyal aide, and Tasha knew May would do what she had to, to maintain her cover.

She approached him warily, keeping an arm's length between them. 

He glanced sideways at her and smiled that chilly smile. "Your pupil is getting warmed up."

Tasks forced her eyes from him and looked down through the forcefield. 

There were several men in the room, but there was no question of which one she was to train: he was almost as big as Steve, but where Steve moved like a cat, this soldier was like a wild bull. 

He was wearing black combat pants, but his feet and upper body were bare. She could see a mess of scar tissue down his left side, knitting up around his left shoulder, where a fearsome metal arm was attached.

"His arm?"

"Industrial accident in twelve," Pierce replied without turning his head. "He wanted to be useful, but there's very little a one-armed miner can do. Ergo..." He nodded downwards, smiling slightly as the man laid out two of his sparring partners in a flurry of blows. "I think he'll do well."

Tasha kept her eyes on the man. There was a question she knew Pierce was waiting for, but she had her suspicions. "I'm guessing it didn't go as well as Stevee's procedure," she said mildly.

"You believe so?"

She looked at him. "Stevee never had to wear a respirator mask."

Pierce's expression gave nothing away. "It seems that the mines did some damage to his lungs. Coal dust or something of the kind." That lizard-like smile flicked across his lips again. "According to Zola, the mask should aid him."

Tasha suppressed a shudder. She didn't envy the man if he had been treated by Zola. She had been on the receiving end of Zola's attention more than once. It wouldn't surprise her if the mask and arm both hurt their new soldier as much as they helped him. Zola was never a man to worry about his patient's comfort.

She watched her student carefully.

No matter what Pierce had told her, he was missing out a lot of the details. A mining accident didn't explain the faded marks of healing bullet holes in his back. There was an older scar on his brow, splitting one eyebrow in two. Maybe he had been a miner like Pierce said, but he hadn't had a quiet life before the Capitol scooped him up.

If she had to take a guess, volunteering hadn't played any part in it.

He laid out the last two men in the room with him, his body a solid mass smashing them against the wall and floor in turn. He stood in the middle of the room, blood dripping from his fists, the only sounds the moans of pain from his victims, and the rasp of his breathing through the mask.

Pierce turned to Tasha. "Shall we?" He motioned to the doorway.

In silence, she followed him out, flanked by May.

Pierce led them through a long corridor, into an elevator. An enclosed space. Only May present. It would take no effort at all to take Pierce's head between her hands and snap his neck.

May's hand moved to rest casually on the stun baton at her waist. It was a pointed reminder that this wasn't where Pierce had to die. If Tasha killed him, it would be covered up as neatly as Stevee's escape, and the people she wanted to protect would suffer for it.

The elevator descended silently. 

The doors opened directly into the training hall. The bodies of the unfortunate men were being removed, some on their feet, some on stretchers. Only one of them wasn't moaning in pain. A glance was enough for Tasha to confirm why: part of his skull was crushed in. If he wasn't dead yet, he would be by nightfall.

In the middle of it all, Pierce's toy soldier was still standing where he had been. He hadn't even moved a step. A shiver ran the length of Tasha's spine. The man wasn't a born soldier. Zola must have worked him over well to make him act like one.

"At ease," Pierce said, approaching the man.

The man lifted his head.

Up-close, Tasha could see the scar on his brow was one of many on the visible parts of his face. He looked like half the skin on his face had been torn and crudely stitched back together. His hair was close-shaved to his head, though she could see it was growing in dark.

His eyes, though, were enough to make her recoil.

She’d seen every possible expression in the eyes of the Capitol soldiers: lust, anger, boredom, fear, confusion, alarm. They were human, after all. This new soldier was something different. His eyes were completely blank. No emotion registered in them at all. The whites were bloodshot, and there were deep shadows in the hollow sockets around them.

She could feel Pierce watching her, and forced herself to look away from the soldier, despite every instinct screaming to keep her eyes on him.

Pierce looked amused. “Not what you expected?”

“What is he?” The question escaped before she could stop it.

Pierce looked back at the soldier with a malicious smile. “He’s a weapon, and a very efficient one at that. Unlike you, and our dearly departed Stevee, he doesn’t have any links or ties to anyone. He is what he is and nothing more.”

Tasha felt ill. “I thought you said this was project rebirth?”

Pierce laughed quietly. “Oh, I see. You were expecting another Stevee Rogers. I’m afraid you were labouring under a misapprehension.” He turned back to her. “You see, Project Rebirth created the thorn in my side that is Stevee Rogers. One of those is quite enough.” He gestured to the man beside him, who was staring at a fixed point on the wall beyond her. “This is Zola’s version.”

Tasha knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course it wouldn’t have been that simple. Her relationship with Steve was the very reason she was here. They wouldn’t just pass her a carbon copy. They were giving her something worse: someone with all the strength and power that Steve had, but with none of his heart and soul. Steve was the shield. This man was the blade.

“Does he have a name?”

“Not yet.”

Tasha looked at the man, fighting down the anger. It was bad enough to turn a man – probably as much a victim as she had been, or Steve, or any of the other tributes – into a weapon, but to not even leave him the dignity of his own name was horrific.

“Can he communicate?”

Pierce smiled thinly. “Soldier?”

“I can communicate when required.” The man’s voice had a strange metallic echo, filtered through the mask.

That was something, at least, to make him seem like less of a hollowed-out shell and more of a human being. It didn’t make it any easier to look at him, or listen to the slow, steady rasp of his breath through the respiration mask.

“Tasha is going to train you, under observation,” Pierce said. “She will ensure you’re ready for your mission.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pierce met Tasha’s eyes. “You know what his mission is.” He stepped closer to her and caught her chin in his hand. She flinched, her fists balling. Pierce seemed amused by her stifled rage. “Don’t leave anything out.”

Through clenched teeth, she gritted out, “Yes, sir.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm having a good week ([WHOOHOO! PUBLISHED AUTHOR FTW BABY!](http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/AuthorArcade/cb-lewis) An actual book! On sale! On Amazon! And Barnes and Noble! OMG!), I figured I'd try and write some more of this. Turns out it was a lot easier than expected :D

Pierce had launched an offensive against one of their bases.

Peggy sat in the control room, watching the footage that the Capitol were blasting across all the airwaves. Fury had tried to persuade her not to, but for the sake of the people burning in those walls, she had to sit through it, to remind herself again exactly why they kept fighting. 

It wasn’t a restrained assault. 

Somehow, Pierce’s intelligence team had found one of their bases, and knew when it was at its most vulnerable. Most of the weapons and jets were out on a raid when the Capitol’s aircraft swept in, raining fire and oblivion down on the mess of buildings.

They had so little warning. Maybe some of them were able to reach the warren of tunnels far below the buildings, but the majority of the people in hiding there were refugees from the districts, people who believed they were safe there.

Peggy pressed her trembling lips to her knuckles. The footage was harrowing. She saw a woman running from the building, screaming, hair aflame. She was torn to pieces by the next bomb that hit, vanishing in a spray of red. There were others, some screaming, some lying still. The buildings were collapsing like they were made of sand under the bombardment. People came with the walls, tumbling between the bricks, minced up to paste in the rubble. 

The footage came from the bombers themselves, and then from the soldiers who stormed in to pick off the survivors. Their cameras juddered, and the images were shaking and stilted, but Peggy could see bodies. The wounded, the weak, the helpless. One by one they were picked off, first with bullets, but when they ran short, with blades, and then with bare hands. 

“Carter,” Fury said quietly.

She shook her head, her throat closed up tight. She could feel tears on her cheeks, but it wasn’t distress or grief. It was rage, pure and simple, and if she looked away now, she knew she would lash out at someone or something around her.

“You can go.” Steve’s voice was quiet and clipped. “All of you. Leave.”

“You don’t give the orders in here, Captain,” Fury said.

Steve was silent for a moment. His chair scraped the floor as he stood up. “It’s not an order. It’s a request. The lady wants the room. Trust me. You’re not going to want to be here when that footage runs out.”

Around her, Peggy heard chairs being pushed back, and footsteps.

Fury’s voice was from a distance next time he spoke. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Rogers?”

“Yes.”

The doors were closed for almost ten minutes before the footage stopped. It was worse than she could have imagined: bodies displayed like trophies of victory, buildings burned around the survivors, the whole complex of buildings and the hundreds of occupants wiped out. The Capitol’s victorious music played over the scenes of devastation. It was a celebration for them, but also a grim warning for anyone who was considering joining the rebellion.

Pierce’s face filled the screen. He looked grave, sitting in his grand office. Peggy clenched her hands into fists. Her nails sank into her palms. She could feel the sticky heat of blood.

“Today,” Pierce was saying, “we struck a blow at the heart of the rebellion. The base that was destroyed was a haven for those who would threaten the safety and security of our great nation.” He looked into the camera. “For the rest of the rebels, we know where you are and we will be coming for you. The Capitol remembers.”

The screen faded to the Capitol’s crest.

She flinched when hands came to rest on her shoulder. Steve. 

“We’re going to get him, Peg,” he said quietly. 

“I want to kill him,” she whispered. Her chest was aching, and sweet Heaven, she wanted to break something. Anything. “I want to tie him to a pillory and set him ablaze and let him see how it feels.”

Steve’s hands slid down her arms. They were so big now. When had he outgrown her so much? Or maybe she was really fading as they kept telling her. He covered her hands with his, his palms callused and worn. He’d been working so hard. When he was fighting, he was building, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was training. He didn’t sleep enough, but she knew why.

“Don’t hurt yourself for his sake.” His fingers curled around hers, and reluctantly, she unclenched her fists. “You want to go down the shooting range? You can let off some steam down there.”

She had to turn her face away from his. “We can’t waste the ammunition shooting paper men,” she whispered. 

“If we need to use up a dozen bullets, so you don’t give yourself another heart attack, so be it,” he retorted. “Peg, I know you.” He gently turned over her hands, and she could see the smears of red on her pale, thin skin. “If you don’t shoot something, it won’t go well.”

She curled her fingers in to cover her palms. “I thought I would be there, on the front line, when the final battle came.” Her voice shook, but in front of him, she didn’t mind. He had seen her at her best and her worst. He knew her as well as he knew himself. “I wanted to be there, Steve. I wanted to…” The breath escaped her in a rush, and the tears were sweeping down her cheeks again. “I want to see him die, Steve. For all that he did to us. For all that he let them do.”

He wrapped himself around her, the shield between her and the world. She didn’t know if he’s protecting her or the rest of them right now, but it doesn’t matter. He knew what she went through. He’d spent years with the same grief and anger that has kept her going for so long. It was the fuel that kept the surviving victors holding on.

“We can go to the shooting range,” he said again. “Or you can sock me in the jaw. One or the other.”

She turned in the chair, looking up at him. “You know damn well I would break my hand,” she said, and tried to smile, but it faltered before it got anywhere. She looked back at the black screen and took an unsteady breath. “There were children. They tried to obscure them, but there were little children, Steve.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I saw.” He bent, and slipped his arms under her legs and behind her back. “Come on. Shooting range.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Doctor’s orders,” Steve replied. He carried her out into the halls, which were mercifully deserted. No doubt Nicholas had spread the word to keep them clear. As they descended down in the elevator, he looked down at her, and she could see the shadows under his eyes. “If I can, when the day comes, I’ll keep him alive. We’ll bring him back, and you can watch.”

She laid her arm around his shoulder, and closed her eyes. “That would be marvellous.”

He pressed his cheek to her hair. She looked older now, she knew. For forty years, she had been a legend, but her fire was fading, and neither of them wanted to admit it. The heart attack had taken too much out of her. She was weaker than she had ever been. Her hands shook almost constantly, and it took no effort at all for her to end up out of breath. Even her hair had gone from dull steel to white almost overnight.

“We’re getting there, Peg,” he said softly. “You know we are.”

She turned her head to press it to his chest. “We lost so many people today.”

“We have more joining us every day. If they don’t join us, they’re just lambs waiting for slaughter anyway. Even if they die fighting with us, at least we gave them that choice, instead of leaving them locked up in the districts.”

It was a discussion they’d had before, and no matter how many times they had it, the loss of innocent lives never stopped hurting. It was a war, something she had known all along, and people were always going to die, but she had seen so many, too many, Hunger Games.

The children, she knew, were always the easiest targets.

She had watched the culling each and every year. She had trained children, some barely teens, some on the cusp of adulthood. Every year, she had tried to smile and assure them they could be the victors, but the Games were never that simple. Almost every year, she had accompanied two coffins back to the district. Some were so small. They had barely had a chance to live. 

There had only been half a dozen victors from their district in her living memory. She and Steve were all that was left now. Sixty years of children being culled for sport and cruel entertainment. Sixty years of children lined up and raffled out. And now, children being cut apart by bullets and set alight by bombs.

Her fingers sank into the meat of Steve’s shoulder, and her tears soaked through his shirt. He didn’t say a word. There wasn’t anything he could say, nothing that would help, but he held her closer and tighter and let her cry. 

The shooting range was low in the bowels of the base. It was deserted. No one had a chance to train anymore. They were too short on weapons and supplies. Steve flicked on the lights with his elbow, illuminating the long, narrow corridors and the empty targets.

“Old-fashioned, compared to the Capitol, isn’t it?” He was trying to make light of it, but there was a weariness in him that she recognised all too well. It was like trying to fight an army with sticks and stones. The Capitol had every weapon they could possibly need. The rebellion? Well, they had what they’d scraped together on rag-tag raids and thefts.

She touched his shoulder, motioning him towards one of the shooting bays. “We do what we can, with the weapons we have,” she said. “Even if it’s nothing but some scrap metal and a star.”

He set her down gently. “You don’t give up, do you?”

She caught his wrist, staring blindly at the empty target. “I can’t,” she said quietly. “I have fought so hard to get us even this far.” She looked up at him, his shadowed eyes, the hollows beneath his cheekbones. It stretched him thin, her brave, strong boy. “No matter what happens, you must finish it.”

“I know,” he whispered. He crouched at her feet, and caught her hands, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “We’re going to end it, Peg. We’ll make it so they’re safe.”

She smiled. “I know.” She looked back at the empty slot for a target. “Set me up something with his face on it, would you? I want to do some violence.”

The projection system was old, but functional, and Pierce’s familiar face appeared in the empty slot. Peggy could remember when he first stepped up and took the Presidency. No one expected he could be worse than the ones who came before. It was amazing how wrong they had all been about that.

Steve returned to her side, laying out his own handguns in front of her. He always carried at least four, and she knew them as well as she knew her own weapons. 

She picked up the .45 and sighted down the barrel. It was heavier than she remembered, but that was no surprise. Everything was so much harder these days. “One round,” she said. “I won’t use more than that.”

Steve pressed his hands to her shoulders. “Use however many you need.”

Peggy looked at Pierce and raised the gun.

Each bullet struck him squarely between the eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

Tasha spat blood on the floor and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

In the middle of the training room, the Soldier was standing upright, as if he hadn't just thrown her across the room. His arms were by his sides, as if he was at attention, and his eyes were fixed on her, waiting for her next assault.

It was terrifying.

He was terrifying. 

At first, their training hadn't been too bad. Wherever he had come from, it was clear he wasn't a trained soldier. His combat skills, while brutal, were rudimentary at best, as if he had only been given the most violent basics. 

It helped that she was quicker and able to avoid the worst of his attacks, but with time, he was learning. The more he learned, the more painful it became. 

With effort, she pushed herself back to her feet, wincing. "Time-out," she said.

The shift in the Soldier's stance was subtle, but now she knew to watch for it. He was always combat-ready, but it was the difference between being in attack mode, and being on stand-by.

Tasha made an effort to hide the pain as she limped across the floor and picked up her flask. It wasn't just water anymore. She could taste the chemicals. Probably a numbing element, so she could take more hits. Stimulants too, to keep her conscious for longer.

She took a mouthful, the bitter taste clinging to her tongue, and watched her pupil.

If Operation Rebirth was meant to create the perfect human specimen, then Zola had twisted the idea to make the perfect soldier. The Soldier was exactly that. He had no emotions, no normal human responses. 

He was a weapon, nothing more.

He never showed any signs of pain or fatigue, no matter how long they fought for. Maybe it was hidden behind his breathing apparatus. All she knew was that his eyes showed nothing. She could hit him as long and as hard as she wanted, but he would still get up and strike back.

A flicker of movement high on her line of sight made her glance up.

President Pierce.

She looked away and took another mouthful of bitter fluid. It burned all the way down. Tasha set the bottle back down, and rolled her shoulders, stretching out the muscles of her arms.

Pierce didn't come down to the viewing chamber every day, but when he did, he expected a show, and the last thing she wanted was another night in a darkened cell, waiting for the next shock surge through the floor. 

The Soldier shifted into combat mode, and inwardly, she prayed it wouldn't be too bad this time.

She landed a few good hits, even got the Soldier on the ground briefly, but there was a limit to the number of tricks she had up her sleeve. He had strength, stamina, and sheer brute force on his side.

Still, when he had her in a choke-hold with his left arm, she managed to use a stun baton to short the limb and get free, stumbling back to her feet and gasping. Before he could attack again, a voice spoke through the speaker.

"Stand down, soldier."

The Soldier resumed his default stance, as if he hadn't moved.

Tasha fingered her neck, wincing. She could feel the tenderness, and warm drops of blood where the plates of his metal arm had pinched at her skin. She smeared them away, and rubbed her fingertips with her thumb.

She returned to pick up the bottle again, gulping down another two mouthfuls. Maybe it was drugged, but right now, she could feel her whole body going black and blue again. If she could dull the pain for a while, good. 

The door of the training room hissed open.

Tasha held the bottle tightly in her hand. It was getting harder not to turn, not to grab something – anything – and throw it. Hell, if need be, she had plenty of fingers and he had two soft, wet eyeballs that were vulnerable.

“That was an impressive show.”

Tasha twisted her mouth into a smile and turned. Her knuckles were white and the ridges of the bottle were cutting into her palms. “Thank you, sir. The Soldier is a quick learner.”

On the far side of the room, Pierce was flanked by May and Rumlow, and he looked too happy. That was never a good look on him. If he was happy, then things had to be going badly on the outside, and that could mean that Steve…

She forced down the flare of panic.

“It’s all very well training this young man here,” Pierce said conversationally to her, as if she wasn’t bruised and bloody. “But I don’t expect there are going to be very many training rooms out in the field. Do you?”

“You provided me with facilities, sir. I do what I can with them.”

He was watching her, with those cold, pale eyes. “Indeed.” He glanced at May. “Make the arrangements.”

“The security arrangements…”

“Are your concern.” 

He walked into the middle of the room, and Tasha hefted the bottle, feeling the weight of it. By the door, Rumlow shifted, and she heard the click as he thumbed the safety off his gun. A wordless warning. She shot a look at May, who gazed back impassively.

The Soldier came to attention.

Pierce studied him. Tasha didn’t know what he was looking for, but it seemed like he found it, because just as abruptly as he’d arrived, he returned to the door. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said, glancing back at her. “Take two days.”

The door closed behind him. 

Tasha set the bottle down. Her hands were shaking. Pierce didn’t just give a respite. Something was coming in two days. She packed up her gear, and without a backwards glance at the Soldier, fled back to her rooms. 

Two days.

They flew by. Every time a call chimed in, she was on her feet. She had armed herself, then disarmed herself, more times than she could count. It wouldn’t make a difference. She barely managed to sleep.

By the time May entered her room, Tasha was on edge and ready to fight. It was the same dread she had the day before she was launched into the arena. May silently shackled her, then lifted a black cloth bag over her head.

As she was led out into the corridors, she felt May’s hand at her back. Something metal pressed low down on her spine. The tracker. Tasha’s heart skipped a beat, and she wished she could ask, but this wasn’t the time or place for words.

She was escorted into a shuttle, and heard the heavy footfall of the Soldier as well. No one spoke until the shuttle had been in the air for close to an hour, and Pierce’s voice rang through the speakers.

“We’ve prepared a more realistic training ground. I hope you like it.”

Tasha felt the shackles loosen around her wrists. She felt the cool brush of May’s fingers, and close to her ear, she heard May breathe, “Hold your breath.”

She didn’t understand, not at first, not until she heard the hiss of the hatch opening. Air whipped at her and she was falling. She braced herself, and hit the water feet-first. She grabbed at her hood, ripping it off, and swam back to the surface, gasping as she broke through. 

Then she froze, heart pounding.

No. No no no.

It was an arena.

No. Not just an arena.

Her arena.

She was in the lake. There was the deserted city, with streets. like Three. If she went back in there, it would be the games all over again. But she had no choice. There or going under.

Something was thrashing in the water nearby, and she whipped around. Not one of the flesh-eaters. Only the Soldier. Only. She almost laughed, almost wept. He was struggling, and mercy said she could just let him go under.

But Pierce wouldn’t let that happen.

She swam over, looping an arm under his chest. He fought and almost pulled her under too.

“Stop,” she gasped in his ear. “I’ll get us to shore.”

It took longer than it should have done. By the time they both crawled onto the shingle shore, her limbs were aching. Tasha managed to get to her feet, and looked around. If it was like the games, then there would be others there too, hunting them.

“On your feet, Soldier.” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s, rasping in her ears. “We need to find cover.”

It was familiar. Sickeningly so. There was no cornucopia, but there were scraps to work with. She pulled together a weapon for herself, saw him watching her, doing the same. He was learning. Learning all the time.

Outside of the training room, Tasha could see all the weaknesses the Soldier had. He needed to be trained how to find cover, vantage points, strengths a soldier in the field needed. As much as she hated Pierce for it, it was the perfect place for a trial by fire.

The first attack came an hour after they stumbled ashore. Armed civilians. Probably dissenters from the districts. Tasha had to dismiss that thought. It was the arena. Live or die. Kill or be killed.

The blood was as hot on her hands as she remembered. Her hands still shook, always shook, as she washed them at a faucet in one of the buildings. Us or them. She folded up and was sick down the side of the sink.

Round one was a victory. Pierce would be pleased.

Another followed. And another. Not regularly, but constantly, until night fell. It wouldn’t bring any respite, but at least they could hide in the darkness for a while. In the shadows of a deserted building, she went through their inventory. It wasn’t much, but they were armed.

The Soldier was still watching her. He had found a whetstone. Or maybe just a useful stone. Either way, he was using it on a sliver of metal he had turned into a knife. He had a skill with blades. Not a miner’s skill.

She wondered if this wasn’t Pierce’s endgame for her: another round of the games to end with the Soldier’s knife in her throat. A graduation present for his teacher. 

Looked like it was going to be another sleepless night.

Outside, something sparked and flared in the sky.

The Soldier unfolded from the opposite wall, and Tasha rose too. It wasn’t a projection on the dome. Something was burning out there.

“It’s a trap.”

She glanced back at the Soldier, surprised. “Probably,” she agreed. “I’ll check.”

His grip tightened on his blade. “We.”

Her shadow, she realised grimly. Pierce didn’t want them separating. He didn’t trust her.

“Fine.”

He wasn’t wrong. The city block was ablaze. Something had exploded in the dome. The projection was fading, and above the sound of gusting wind and explosions, Tasha could hear the rapid rumble of an engine.

Someone had broken into the dome.

Friends? Enemies? Both?

Tasha raised her arm to shield her eyes from the blaze, but it was too bright. Running footsteps came out of nowhere. Something hit her hard from behind, and she fell, rolling back to her feet in an instant.

Stars were flaring behind her eyes, but this was her arena. She knew it. She’d survived it before, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to die there this time.

She launched herself at her assailant, bringing her blades around. She could hear the Soldier fighting close by. Gun fire. She felt her blade impact, her vision shot with the afterimage of flames. She was too tired. Too hungry. Too weak. Someone had her, pinning her arms down by her sides.

No. No, she couldn’t and wouldn’t die here.

She was still screaming and kicking, right up until the needle sank into her neck.


	19. Chapter 19

The medical bay was finally quiet.

Peggy sat in the deserted corridor, stiff and upright in one of the metal chairs. The muted chirp of machines was just audible, and she could hear voices from further along the hall. 

For close to an hour, it had been chaos. The extraction hadn't gone as smoothly as anyone hoped, but they had still retrieved their target. All things considered, given the short notice they had, it was amazing that they had managed at all. 

There had been casualties, though.

The door beside her hissed open.

Peggy opened her eyes and looked up. 

Steve looked blankly back at her. He hadn't been a part of the raid. He hadn't even been aware it was going on, let alone how dangerous it was going to be. He was considered too valuable to be sent in.

He would have gone, if he'd known. He wouldn't have let them leave him behind.

Peggy's heart sank. "Steve..."

"She's alive," he said. He tried to smile, but it faltered. He was too exhausted. "Still coming out of sedation, but they said she'll be fine." He took three faltering steps and sank down on the chair beside her. "She's alive, Peg."

Peggy reached over and silently clasped his hand.

His grip on her fingers was almost painful. "I thought I'd never see her again."

"I know. We've been working on getting her out for almost as long as we'd been trying to get you." She ran her thumb along the back of his hand. “May has been our eyes and ears in the Capitol for months now.”

He nodded. “I remember. She flirted with me at one of Pierce’s events. At least, he thought it was flirting.”

Peggy had to smile. “May’s one of the best when it comes to undercover operations.” Her smile faded. “She was meant to contact us as soon as she was able to.”

“To join us?”

Peggy nodded. If May had been killed – or worse, captured – it was a serious loss to the rebellion. She was an astute tactician, and one of the best security operatives they had. She was also a good friend, something rare to find in those born to the Capitol.

“We have to look at the positives,” she said quietly. “We had people to liberate, and we succeeded. We need to remember that.”

Steve blew out a sigh. “Yeah. Even if people were hurt.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why Fury had to do this one himself.”

Peggy traced a circle on his hand with her thumb. "Nicholas was Tasha’s mentor. Did you know?"

Steve looked at her in surprise. "I wondered, but..." He met her eyes. "It's not something we talked about a lot. The Games."

No victor ever did, unless pushed. So many of them visited the arena again when they slept. The last thing they wanted to do was talk about it when they were awake. It was the unspoken code among the victors: never ask, never tell. 

"He'll be all right."

"You know that?"

Peggy looked down at their joined hands. His was so broad and strong. Hers looked as fragile as glass by comparison. "I know Nicholas," she murmured. "He's not the kind of man to die easily."

"They shot through him to get to her." Steve opened his fingers around hers, as if he feared crushing them in anger. "Morita told me. As soon as they saw her get snatched, they shot through Nick to get to her. They didn't bother with a kill shot on Nick. They were aiming for her."

Peggy shivered. She could remember the ruthlessness of the Capitol all too well. "They must have considered her much more valuable than we thought." She glanced towards the door that led to the recovery room. "Perhaps she has intelligence they wanted to keep quiet."

“Maybe.” Steve withdrew his hand and ran it over his face. “With Pierce, it could just be spite. He doesn’t like to lose his favourite toys.”

“I remember,” Peggy murmured. “If we’re lucky, he’ll think she was killed, and we-“

A crash from inside the room had Steve on his feet in a heartbeat. He slammed his hand against the door controller, rushing back in. Peggy was only a few steps behind him.

The girl from three, Tasha, was off her bed. She had the nurse by the throat, a needle in her hand, and she was swaying. Her pupils were dilated. Still half-sedated, Peggy thought. If she kept moving, she would pull open her wound in her disorientation. Peggy started to move forward, but Steve shook his head, motioning for her to stay back.

"Tasha," Steve said, his voice softer. "Tasha, it's me."

Tasha looked over at him, blinking slowly. "Steve?"

He nodded, approaching slowly, his hands held up, palms out. "Yeah, Tash. Me. You're safe." He offered a hand to her. "I'm here."

She dropped the needle and released the nurse. "Steve..." She staggered towards him, falling halfway. He caught her before she hit the floor, cradling her. Tasha raised her hand to touch his face as if she could hardly believe it was him. "You got hairy."

He laughed hoarsely, covering her hand with his own. "Yeah. No more compulsory waxing. You should see my chest." He lifted her up, arms beneath her knees and behind her back, and carried her back to the bed, setting her down. "You remember what happened?"

As Peggy approached the bed, she saw the way the younger woman's body coiled up, in reflexive pain and dread. "My arena," she whispered. "They put me back in my arena."

Steve’s whole body went tense as a wire. “We got you out. You’re safe now.”

Tasha stared at him for a moment too long. “No.” She pushed herself upright and tried to swing her legs down from the bed. Steve caught her arms, and she pushed at him. “No, I have to go back. I have to. They said they’d kill him if I did anything.”

“Who?” Steve had her by the arms, holding her as gently as he could without letting her break free. “Who is he?”

“Barton,” Peggy murmured.

Tasha and Steve both looked at her, Tasha warily, and Steve confused.

“You know?” Tasha whispered. “You know about him?”

Peggy came closer to the bed. “We knew they had collateral,” she murmured. “May was able to get his identity to us. We scooped him up at the same time as you were snatched. Their defences around him were lowered when you were… engaged. He’s on his way back here now.”

Tasha’s hands were shaking as she covered her face, and Peggy drew back as Steve wrapped the younger woman up in his arms, rocking her as if she was little more than a child. 

“There’s some bad news too,” he murmured. “Fury…”

Tasha pulled back, staring at him. “Nick?”

“He was the one to get you out. One of their people shot both of you.”

The woman’s face was already ashen, but what little colour was left leeched away. “He’s dead?”

Steve shook his head. “Badly wounded,” he said quickly. “Alive, but it’s bad. He’s in a bad way.”

She pressed her eyes closed, leaning back into Steve. Peggy could only imagine how shaken and exhausted she was. It was bad enough that she was wounded and learning her mentor was wounded, but to know they had pulled her out of a replica of her own arena…

It was the worst fate any victor could imagine: being forced back into the place that haunted their nightmares, weeks, months, years, decades after the games.

“The one who shot him,” Tasha whispered. “Could they describe him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve said. “What matters is that you’re out.”

Peggy was watching Tasha’s face, and she saw the way her features tensed. It was subtle, but for someone who had spent decades playing the Capitol games, Peggy could read the tiniest change in expression. Steve was too caught up in his relief to notice, but Peggy saw it.

“Do you know who it might be?” she asked quietly.

Tasha nodded. She had her hands on Steve’s chest and smoothed his shirt over and over again. “I didn’t want to help them.” Her voice shook, and broke. “They… they had Barton, and…” Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. “I didn’t want to help them, Steve.”

He cupped the back of her head, stroking his fingers through her hair. How many times, Peggy wondered, had they needed to hold onto each other like this? For years, they had only had one another, and it showed. It was good, for both of them, to have someone they could trust like that.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ll get through this. Tell me what they wanted you to do. Was it…” He hesitated. “Like Strucker?”

Peggy wanted to ask what he meant, but it wasn’t the time or place. Their shared history was what had kept them both alive. She didn’t need to know the details, not unless they deemed it important.

Tasha shook her head tightly. “They took me off rota after you were taken,” she said. May, Peggy remembered. She had arranged that at least. “They knew we trained together. They thought… they wanted me to train their new soldier to fight you.”

“A new soldier?” Peggy echoed.

Tasha looked at her, nodded, then looked back at Steve. “Zola got the formulas for Operation Rebirth. They… he… Pierce said he was a volunteer from Twelve. I don’t think…” She shook her head. “He’s not like you. The one they made. The one who shot Nick. He’s… he kills. It’s all he does.”

Peggy forced down bitter acid in her throat. It wasn’t a surprise. Steve had proven himself a formidable adversary more than once on the battlefield. If they wanted to ruin the shine of the Golden Boy of the rebellion, they would need something – someone – as strong to deal with him.

Steve stroked Tasha’s hair again gently. “We know now. We’ll be prepared when they send him.” He guided Tasha back down on the pillows. “You just rest for now, okay? You need to heal.”

She caught his wrist. “You’ll be close by?”

Steve leaned down over her and kissed her on the brow. “If you need me, tell one of the nurses. They’ll call on and I’ll come running.”

It seemed to reassure her, but even as Peggy left the room with Steve, she could see the tension in Tasha’s body, beneath the blankets.

“A new soldier,” Steve murmured as they walked down the hall. “I must be really pissing them off.”

“You needn’t sound so smug about it,” Peggy said with a brief smile.

He shot her a look that was so close to the clever-eyed, sarcastic youth she had once known that it almost stole her breath. “Can’t help it,” he said. “Old habits.” He glanced back, and for a moment, his steps faltered. 

She slipped her arm through his. “She’ll be all right.”

“Yeah?”

She wished she could smile. “Well, as all right as any of us can be.” She squeezed his arm. “We will need to tell her about May, when she’s stronger. Less distressed.”

Steve grimaced. “Wait until she’s less distressed to make her more distressed?”

“You know she wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark,” Peggy countered quietly. “Anyway, it was May’s decision to bring forward her rescue. We had hoped she would be able to make it out as well, but it seems time was against her.”

“And you’ve lost your eyes and ears in the Capitol.”

It was an unfortunate truth.

“We managed before,” she said, “we’ll manage again.” She looked up at him. “We can’t risk another incursion into Capitol territory now anyway. Not until we know what this new threat is.”

“How bad do you think it could be?”

Peggy hesitated. “Knowing Pierce?”

Steve winced. “Yeah. Probably worse than we can imagine.”


	20. Chapter 20

There were so many people.

It was one thing to attend Pierce’s Capitol parties, but this was something different. There were people of all ages and backgrounds. There was no music. There were meagre rations. There were children.

Tasha sat by the door, watching them. She hadn’t seen another child since her Games. They had never let her be a mentor. She had financial uses. 

“You okay?”

She looked across at Steve, opposite her. “It’s… different.”

He glanced around. “It gets easier,” he promised.

She wanted to believe him, but her instincts were screaming to retreat somewhere without so many vulnerable targets. Pierce would burn the place to the ground, with everyone in it. Her fork clattered from her hand and she shivered.

Steve rose at once. “Come on. We can find somewhere quieter.”

She didn’t speak until they were in the halls outside the mess hall. “He’ll come after us. He won’t let us get away.”

“Yeah.” Steve slowed his pace to match hers. “He’s been trying.”

She reached out, touching his arm. “Steve, this soldier… he could hurt you.”

Steve’s smile was brief. “He’ll try.” They continued down the corridor. “Did Peggy tell you about May?”

Tasha nodded unhappily. For all that she wanted out, she never wanted someone else left in her place. They didn’t even know if May was alive. She was the reason Tasha was alive. She had blocked the tracker long enough for it to be removed, leaving Tasha with nothing but a scar. “He’s hurt too many good people.”

“Yeah.” 

Steve’s tone made her stop short.

“Steve, what is it?”

He hesitated. “You remember Bucky?”

“Of course.” The look on his face told her all she needed to know. “Oh God. Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s why we fight,” he said quietly. “So no one else will get hurt like that.” He nodded down the corridor. “You should head for the docking bay. You’ve got someone incoming.”

Tasha looked down the corridor and back at him. “I’ll see you later?”

He nodded, then turned and headed back. Tasha continued down the corridor. Her heart was racing. She knew why Steve had left her: he had lost his friend, so seeing her reunited with hers would hurt.

Barton’s extraction had been quick, but the Capitol defences had tightened. Almost two weeks had passed since he’d been scooped up to arrive today. Her pace quickened at the thought. It had been years, but he was a friend from before, a friend who remembered the girl that she was before the games and blood and death. 

She ran into the bay as the shuttle came in to land. It was beaten up, smoking, but intact. Her heart was in her mouth as the ramp opened, and the occupants poured out.

Barton was there and he saw her from across the bay. She didn’t know which of them started running first, but they crashed together in the middle of the bay, and she heard him laughing as he whirled her up off her feet and spun her around, as if they were normal people.

“Good to see you.” His voice was warm on her ear. She had no words. She only hugged him tighter.

Almost ten years apart, and yet it felt like nothing had changed.

For the first few days after his arrival, she felt like she was walking in a daze. Barton didn’t mind that she snuck into his room and curled around him to sleep. When she woke from a nightmare, he calmed her. During the daylight hours, they wandered the base. He shared his rations with her, and retaught her the sign language she had known so long ago. 

It made things better, easier, to be able to reach out and touch the people she trusted. It almost made her feel normal, that the world could be okay.

That feeling only lasted until word came in of a crackdown in Seven. 

There had been a protest. Huge numbers of workers had stood against the Capitol’s squads. In retaliation, the Capitol had rained fire down on them from vast aircraft, even sacrificing their own people in the massacre. The footage was beamed into the mess hall, and silently, hundreds watched men, women, children, screaming and burning. 

She saw Steve leave the hall at a run, and took off after him. She knew where he would be heading. The control room was already filling up with other people, furious people. Even Nick was there, still bandaged and in a sling, but standing. 

“This situation has trap written all over it,” Carter was saying. She was standing at the head of the table.

“Luring us in to take us out,” Nick agreed.

“But we have no choice.” Carter looked around the room. “We need to get aid to the survivors, and get those who need the most help to some kind of shelter.”

“I’m going,” Steve said quietly.

No one argued, but Tasha could tell a lot of people wanted to keep him safe. 

In the days since her arrival, she could see how Steve was respected. People looked up to him. They trusted him. If he was willing to put his life on the line for them, they would all do the same for him. 

She felt a touch at her elbow. Barton was beside her, and offered her a nod. He knew her too well, and she knew him well enough to understand what he meant.

“I’m going too.” She looked back at Steve.

“Tasha…” Steve began.

She shook her head. “I’ve been locked up for long enough. You know what I’m capable of.”

He gazed at her, then nodded. “Anyone else?”

“Me,” Barton said. “Get me a bow, and I’ll cover you.” Tasha reached out, her fingers brushing his. He didn’t look at her, but took her hand, squeezing it. 

Others signed up, until there was enough for a small squad. The rest were dismissed, and Fury and Carter started laying out options. It didn’t take a lot to see they were cut from the same cloth, overlapping their ideas until a cohesive plan came out of it. There were risks, but given the circumstances, being alive at all was a risk.

When they were dismissed to prepare, Fury called out Tasha’s name.

She lingered, as the team dispersed. Carter glanced at her and gave her an approving nod, before departed. 

Tasha looked down at Fury. “I know what you’re going to say, Nick.” 

“That so?”

She sat on the edge of the table. “You think I need more time.”

“I think you’ve been through hell,” he corrected. “If this is will help you, I’m not gonna stop you.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt because you’ve got a point to prove.”

She curled her fingers around the edge of the table. “I can’t just sit here and watch them go.”

“I figured.” One side of his mouth turned up. “I always thought we’d be fighting side by side after I got you out. Looks like I’m the one set for the bench this time.”

“You’re alive.” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. “That’s something.”

“Yeah.” He looked up at her. “Watch his back, and your own.”

Her smile felt tight. “I always do.”

The squad set out within two hours. It was a long trip to Seven, and their camo shuttles swept low to stay under the Capitol radars. Tasha was in the same shuttle as Steve and Barton. The tension was unbearable. 

It was only when they were getting closer to Seven that the approach was laid out. “The other shuttle is taking the east side,” Steve said. “We get the west.”

“Any sign of Capitol defences?” Tasha asked.

Gabe, a man from four with an eye for tech, shook his head. “Doesn’t mean it’s not there, though,” he said. “They’re improve constantly.”

“We stay on our guard at all times.”

Morita snickered. “Don’t know about you, Chief, but that’s our default.”

Steve nodded. “Prep your kit. We need to be in and out as quickly as possible.” He rose from his own seat and headed towards the back of the shuttle. Tasha rose and went to join him.

In silence, they both checked their weapons. It felt strange to be armed again, after so long. The guns were a solid weight on Tasha’s hips, and she looped a belt of miniature incendiaries diagonally across her chest for easy access. That done, she turned her attention to the med kits.

“You okay?” Steve finally asked.

“I’m not closed up in our cage. I’m good.”

“Liar.”

She met his eyes. “Takes one to know one.” She glanced back up the shuttle, then looked back up at Steve. “If their Soldier is there…”

“We’ll deal with him.”

“It might not be that simple.”

Steve touched her shoulder. “We fight. It’s that simple.” The weight of his hand was reassuring. “Anyway, he’s trained with you, but he’s never fought both of us at the same time, has he?”

She stepped back to pick up another belt, this one heavy with medical kit. “You’re pretty confident for a boywhore from the Capitol.”

For a moment, a grin lit his face. “Not just a pretty face, Tash.”

It was like some of the tension shook loose and she looked him up and down in his tight, sleek combat uniform. “Yeah, I guess you have that ass too.”

He laughed, something she had rarely heard in their captivity. It was a good sound. Warm. He needed to do it more, she decided.

“Coming up on the drop zone!” The pilot’s voice echoed through the cabin. “To positions.”

The stench of burned flesh and smoke hit them as soon as the ramp lowered. Tasha gagged, but there was no time to stop or think. They were out and running into the grounds. There were buildings nearby, where the wounded civilians were holed up.

Steve gestured, and the squad moved forward.

Tasha had his six, looking around warily. It was too easy. Pierce was a bastard. He would let them taste a little bit of victory, and that was when he would stick the knife in.

Inside the building, it was chaos. The stink of blood and vomit and burned flesh was almost unbearable. It was a sea of bodies, some moving, some still. Even Steve seemed stunned, staring around.

Someone on the ground saw him, breathed his name. Another heard, and another, until the hall was echoing with Steve’s name.

He moved forward, among them, kneeling and pressing medicine packs into the hands of the wounded, touching the face of a weeping woman, letting a small child clutch at him. He was crying, she noticed. Silently, but there were tears streaking down the tattoos on his cheeks. 

He needed it, she realised, as much as they did. Every person on their team. Every person in the hall. They needed to know they were doing something, and that they weren’t being overlooked. 

Tasha stayed close. Fury had given her an order. She intended to follow it. She nodded to people, handed down kits, and when a girl touched her hand, she crouched down to speak to her.

A glint of light on metal caught her eye. A hand. Her eyes flicked up to its owner, her heart pounding. It all happened so fast. She saw his eyes, his gun was up, she was throwing herself sidelong, the deafening blast of the gunshot meant for Steve.

The impact threw her back against him. “Trap,” she gasped out, clutching at her shoulder.

Steve was already moving. The Soldier erupted among the wounded civilians. Steve raised his shield, he ran. As Tasha’s vision faded, she saw the soldier run. No, she wanted to scream. No, he’s luring you into open ground. But she was bleeding out and her voice was a whisper, and Steve was running into another trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part Two


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some graphic violence in this chapter.

There was an ambush waiting for them outside. People they’d mistakenly assumed were allies were peppering the ground with bullets. Steve waved them back urgently, keeping his eyes on the man that Tasha had called the Soldier. 

He had disappeared into the shadows of a smouldering building, across the pock-marked open ground. If they wanted to get eyes on him, they would have to break cover. If they broke cover, there were buildings towering all around them, and he had no doubts that a least dozen men were waiting there, ready to pick them off like flies.

Steve motioned his team further back. He knew he was fast himself, but he couldn’t speak for the others in his unit. They would be more use to him out of sight. “Give me cover,” he said, “and take out any snipers you can.”

“What are-“ Morita began, then groaned. “Don’t.”

Steve adjusted the shield on his arm and took a breath, gathering himself. “Got to,” he said, then he ran. He heard the roar of gun fire from both sides. Chips of stone flew up around him as he darted this way and that, ducking under fallen beams, vaulting over piles of rubbles and burned bodies. 

Shots ricocheted off the shield, and he felt the sting of a bullet grazing his arm. A body crashed down from above him, a Capitol foot soldier, his head burst open like ripe fruit. Blood spattered Steve’s boots, and he dived for the shadows of the building, out of their range, rolling to a halt against the foot of the wall. A gun appeared over the window ledge above him and he was on his feet again, darting through the doorway, shield raised in case the Soldier was waiting for him.

No gunfire.

No sudden assault.

Steve took in the hallway. Parts of it were still burning, fragments of the ceiling crumbling down in smouldering flakes of ash. He could see footprints, fresh ones, leading deeper into the building, and tried to remember all Tasha had told him about the Soldier’s training.

The man was good. 

If Tasha hadn’t jumped in front of his bullet, Steve knew he would have been nothing but a smear of red and rotting meat on the ground. Now, the man was giving himself an advantage, leading Steve into an unknown arena with no back-up, limited bullets, and no idea where or how the Soldier would attack.

Steve moved deeper cautiously. Tasha believed it was a trap. It was about more than the ambush outside. She said the Soldier could fight like he did. If that was the case, he would want to find somewhere that left Steve vulnerable. There weren’t many places that could do that, these days. 

His arm stung where the bullet had cut through his armoured uniform. It was bleeding, but not heavily. An annoyance, but not a handicap.

The corridor he was in had doors leading off all sides of it, light cutting in through the open doorways, the shadows flickering and swaying where fires still burned. The footprints had faded, the ash and dirt worn off. 

Steve breathed slow and steady, shifting the weight of the shield as he continued on. A rattle ahead, made him tighten his grip. A door at the far end of the hallway creaked on its hinges, swinging closed. Steve tried desperately to remember the street plan from the maps. Buildings backed by enclosed courtyards, he recalled. Enclosed spaces. Fish in a barrel.

Still, he had no choice. The man was the biggest threat in the Capitol’s arsenal.

He ran the length of the hall, and registered the faint scrape of boot on tile. He barely had a split-second to dive forward, crashing through the door as the Soldier strode out from one of the side rooms, firing at his back. 

Steve hit the ground hard, going into a shoulder roll to come to his feet again. The courtyard had taken a direct hit in the Capitol’s assault. There was debris everywhere, still burning, and nowhere to hide. Instead, he charged back at the Soldier, shield up, and hit him full force.

To his shock, the Soldier caught his shield with both hands, and spun him with crashing force into the wall beside the door. Steve’s helmet cracked, and the impact sent stars blazing behind his eyes. The Soldier followed through with a brutal punch that would have taken Steve’s head off if he hadn’t dropped flat to the ground. The impact cracked through stone, the metal fist sunk to the wrist in concrete. 

It took the Soldier a second to pull free, which Steve used to flip back to his feet and kick out as hard as he could. He caught the Soldier across the middle, throwing him back from the wall and tumbling across the ground.

The Soldier came up to his knees almost as soon as he hit the ground, gun in hand, and firing. The impact battered off the shield as Steve darted sideways, trying to keep from being pinned down between the Soldier and the wall. His foot hit a pile of debris, and he flipped himself over it, landing on the far side and reaching for his gun at his back. 

The Soldier was silent, out of sight again, and Steve’s heart was beating so hard he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. If the man was moving, Steve couldn’t hear it. He didn’t know if that was because his head was ringing from the impact with the wall, or because of the Soldier’s training.

Steve felt a tickle on his chin, and swiped it with the back of his hand. His glove came away blood, and he could taste metal on his tongue. In his earpiece, he could hear someone shouting, but their words were distorted by static.

“On your left!” A yell from above penetrated the muffled fog around him, and Steve swung around.

He got the shield up just in time as the Soldier fired again, backing up at the impact. The Soldier was still firing, but he lobbed something over Steve’s head and Steve turned sharply, then swore under his breath and rushed at the nearest heap of rubble. 

He was already leaping when the concussion blast from the grenade caught him and threw him clean over the mess of stone and dirt. He landed hard on the ground, shards of shrapnel stinging in his back. He felt something snap in his chest, and winced, scrambling back to his feet. He’d lost his gun on the impact. It had skittered away somewhere in the smoke and the rubble.

The Soldier was there, skidding down the pile of debris, still firing. There was blood at his ears. The concussion grenade. He’d damaged himself to try and do worse to Steve. That wasn’t good. If he didn’t care about how badly he was hurt, there was no stopping him.

Steve hurled the shield as hard as he could. It caught the Soldier’s hand hard enough to crack bones. The gun fell from the Soldier’s grip, but he didn’t even make a sound. He just reached behind him and pulled out a gleaming knife. Steve recoiled, his eyes flicking to the shield. It was a pace behind the Soldier, and when the Soldier made the wild lunge at him, bringing metal arm and knife down towards him, Steve dived low and fast, straight beneath the man’s legs. He scrambled up across the ground, snatching up the shield and spinning around in time to block an overarm swing of the knife.

The Soldier’s metal arm hit the shield with echoing force, and Steve grabbed his metal wrist, forcing the edge of the shield into the exposed joints of the robotic elbow. It sparked and crackled, and over the shield and the Soldier’s mask, Steve could see the man’s brows pull together in something that could have been anger.

The Soldier lashed out with a leg, kicking Steve’s legs out from beneath him. The move was so sudden and violent, Steve only managed to brace himself before he hit the ground, the shield torn from his hand and set rolling across the courtyard. 

The Soldier brought his metal arm down hard, the knife a silver arc. Steve jerked his whole body sideways as hard as he could, and he cursed raggedly as the blade tore through his shoulder, but it meant the Soldier was down on his level now, and he kicked hard at both of the man’s legs at once, knocking them out from under him. 

The Soldier fell forward, and Steve caught him by the front of his respirator. He folded up his legs to catch the Soldier in the middle of the chest and flipped the Soldier over his head, keeping a grip on the mask. If he could keep a grip on him, then he could pin him down.

The Soldier rolled away, wrenching free from the respirator, and Steve heard the gasping rasp of his breath without it. He stumbled back upright, sharp pain lancing down from his shoulder and he looked down. The Soldier’s knife was still sunk to the hilt in his shoulder, and blood was soaking through his uniform.

The Soldier was still on the ground, his breathing laboured, but he was still moving, and starting to rise. Steve lifted a shaking hand to the knife. Pulling it out was a bad idea, but he was out of weapons and ammunition and the shield was out of reach. Fresh blood throbbed out from the wound, and he took a step towards the Soldier, blade upraised.

The Soldier staggered to his feet and spun around. He had another gun. Steve didn’t see where it came from, but it rattled in the man’s metal hand. The Soldier stumbled, breathing hard and raised his head and the gun at the same time.

His heart felt like it had turned to ice.

The Soldier wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t an enemy.

Steve’s world felt like it was shifting beneath his feet.

He wasn’t dead.

“Bucky?” Steve whispered.

The Soldier’s burned and scarred face twisted in something that might have been confusion. His lips pulled back from his teeth. There was blood frothing at the corners of his mouth. “Who the hell is Bucky?” he rasped, his voice both familiar but wrong.

Steve didn’t know what he could say, what he could do. Pierce, he thought numbly. Pierce did this. Pierce took the kindest, bravest, best man in the districts and turned him into this. It wasn’t chance. It wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate.

The knife slid from Steve’s grip, clattering on the stone.

The Soldier’s gun was up, and Steve knew Bucky had a clear shot. He knew, but he couldn’t move, not to hurt Bucky, not even Bucky who looked at him like an enemy, like nothing more than a target to be destroyed.

Someone slammed into the Soldier from the side, bearing him to the ground. Steve shook himself, running forward. If they could just capture the Sol- Bucky. If they could catch him, maybe they could help him. Maybe they could undo whatever had been done to him by…

The Soldier slammed an elbow into the stranger’s face, and Steve saw a silver ball skitter from his metal fingers. Another pulse grenade. Bucky threw the man off and ran. Steve grabbed the stranger around the waist. He was bleeding from the nose. Steve pulled the man’s arm over his shoulder and the half-ran, half-fell back in the direction of the building. 

The blast knocked them both flat. 

Steve tried to push himself upright, staring around. The Soldier – Bucky – was gone, lost in the smoke and flames. 

“Hey,” the stranger said hoarsely. “You okay?”

Steve turned to look at the man. His vision was clouding. He was bleeding out. Shoulder, he thought. Shouldn’t have pulled the knife. “It’s Bucky,” he whispered as the world faded out.


	22. Chapter 22

The technicians were making repairs.

The Soldier stared at the wall in front of him. There was pain again. He put it aside. It did not require attention. He felt blades slip into his skin, cutting free shrapnel from his back. A tactical error, resulting in physical damage. Unsatisfactory.

Following the intervention in his battle with his target, he had followed operations protocol: if the mission is compromised, fall back, reassess the situation. If the mission can be resumed, continue. If the mission is jeopardised, withdraw and regroup.

With the building and courtyard burning, and the target lost in the smoke, he had retreated. His strike team had accompanied him back to the Capitol in a shuttle. The Commander would attend on them first, then on the Soldier.

Protocol.

The Soldier fixed his eyes on a bolt on the wall as the blades cut deeper.

The target was too fast. He had defended himself with a violence that none of the Soldier’s training had prepared him for. He was fast, and then suddenly, he was still. The stillness, the expression, on the target’s face had… done something to the Soldier. He had put the thought aside, but it came back to him now. The target had spoken to him. 

_Bucky_.

He twitched. It was like a spark in his memory. His target had said the word, anticipating recognition. It was not a word he knew. Two syllables. No meaning in the databases he had access to. Spoken with emotion, which had caused the target to lower his weapons. A weakness. Useful?

The Soldier closed his eyes, recollecting each stage of the battle between himself and the target. It was what he had been designed and trained to do. He had fought the target, but the target lived. A civilian had interrupted them. 

_Bucky_.

The battleground was not as he recalled. Houses on all sides, traditional. The target was there too, but incorrect. He was dressed in the fashion of the elite. Not in uniform. He looked to the Soldier, and the Soldier saw the red light dance on the target’s chest. A clean shot, aimed for the heart.

Ships overhead. There was pain, and the world was burning. Through the flames, he saw the target on the ground, bleeding from nose and ears. The Soldier raised his hand, flesh burned black, to… to… to help? 

The Soldier’s eyes snapped open.

His order was simple. Terminate the target. 

The technicians were snarling at him. His breathing was erratic. It was disruptive to their operations. The Soldier evened his breaths, returning his eyes to the wall. Blood was trickling down his back. He could feel the stain spreading, soaking into his pants.

 _Bucky_.

The Soldier focussed on the target, to assess his fighting technique. He had been warned that the target would have skills that his trainer didn’t mention. The target was adaptable when thrown into new surroundings, capable of turning available tools into a weapon, quick as one of the rattlers in the grass, and twice as smart. He’d bite too, if you let him close enough.

The Soldier flinched sharply. One of the blades at his back cut to the bone. The memory jarred. A twenty-two cartridge in a forty-five calibre weapon. Incorrectly positioned. Faulty.

Someone was speaking, but the Soldier’s mind was on the memories that didn’t fit together. 

Something impacted with his face, whipping his head to the side. He turned back. The Commander was standing in front of him, wiping blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief. His expression indicated displeasure.

“Mission report now.”

The Soldier had all the facts lined up: strategy, procedure, first assault, the primary trap laid for the target, his former trainer’s intervention, the secondary trap laid for the target, their battle, and the second intervention. 

The words came out incorrectly. “The man with the shield – who was he?”

The Commander was still and silent. Finally, he spoke. “You know who he is: he was your assigned target, a known fugitive and terrorist leader of the rebellion.”

 _Bucky_.

Terrorist. Rebel. Target.

Ass.

No. Incorrect. It didn’t make sense. 

“I knew him,” the Soldier said slowly. Impossible, but the only explanation. 

The Commander drew up a chair, and sat down in front of the Soldier. His body telegraphed calmness, but the Soldier knew he was displeased. A faulty weapon was of no use to anyone. His words were incorrect and the Commander was displeased.

“The man is a dangerous fugitive.” The Commander’s voice was even. “He intends to destroy the Capitol. You are the line of defence against him. He is your only target. Your only duty is to destroy him. Do you understand?”

The Soldier stared at him blankly. The target was the enemy. That was correct. The target was to be destroyed. That was correct. The target had a sniper’s sight lined up on his chest, and the Soldier stepped in front of it, took the bullet for him. Incorrect. Not feasible. Not _right_.

“I… knew him,” he said again. Before the battle, in another place, he _knew_ he knew him.

The Commander was moving again, speaking to a small man in a white coat. The small man looked at the Soldier. His round glasses gleamed, hiding his eyes. He smiled. The Soldier returned his eyes to the bolt on the wall. 

The target looked wrong, he thought, as hands closed around his arms and he was dragged onto his back. He stared blindly at the light above him. The target should have been smaller. Thinner. He was not correct.

Straps were pulled tight across his chest. Metal wrapped around his head. This was…

This was…

He remembered the pain, a heartbeat before it started again, and he screamed. 

The Soldier woke in darkness.

A moment later, a strip of light illuminated above him.

The Soldier remained motionless on gurney. Protocol. No movement without orders.

To his left, a door slid open. 

“Soldier, on your feet.” 

The Soldier rose. There was pain. He ignored it. 

“Do you know who I am?” The speaker was a man. Old. Grey-haired. 

The Soldier searched his available memories. “The Commander.” His mouth tasted of metal.

The Commander’s mouth turned up. “Very good.” He looked at a small man beside him. “We intend to start immediately.”

“It is better if you do,” the small man said. “His body must process the new data.”

The Commander nodded, then motioned for the Soldier to follow. 

The Soldier stepped forward. His legs shook. Muscle contraction. He forced it to comply. The smaller man moved aside to let him pass. His steps echoed. Outside the room, the hallway was bright. The Soldier reduced his eyes to slits, until his vision adjusted. 

The Commander did not wait for him, assuming obedience. He followed, increasing his pace. 

Two-hundred metres along the corridor, doors slid aside. Compact space. Elevator. He stepped in alongside the Commander, standing to attention. 

The elevator started moving downwards.

The Commander was silent for eight levels. “Your new trainer is waiting.”

“Yes, sir.”

Another two levels. 

“A target will be assigned when you have completed training to a satisfactory degree.” 

The elevator doors opened into a long corridor. One door, no other entrances or exits. Covered lighting. Seamless floors. Designed to contain and prevent escapes. The Commander walked forward briskly. The Soldier fell into step behind him.

The security panel in the door illuminated. The Commander placed his eye to it, and his hand on the sensor on the wall. A scanning grid swept over him from head to toe. The doors slid open, a foot thick. A second set of doors were beyond them. A secure facility. 

The second set of doors only opened when the first set closed. 

The room before them was arranged with tools and weapons on the walls and on racks. Targeting systems were available. Projection lamps glowed overhead. The Soldier, however, only looked at the person on the far side of the room.

A woman, potentially late-thirties. Difficult to pinpoint. Genetic markers and surgery could account for her youthful appearance. Black hair. Dark eyes. She was wearing a vest and combat pants, her arms bare. Her muscles were corded tight as she pulled had against the thick metal restraints that were closed around her wrists. Well-conditioned. 

She was not undamaged. The tissue around one eye showed signs of bruising. Punctures were visible in her chest, arms, and throat. A cut split her lower lip. At the hollow of her throat, there was an x-shaped scar, barely healed.

The Commander stood in front of her. He pushed his jacket back, and slid his hands into his pockets. Casual. Unthreatened. The woman bared her teeth at him, pulling her arms against the restraints. The metal was cutting deep. The Soldier could see the flesh scraping raw.

“Security Chief May will be training you. She is competent in hand-to-hand combat.”

The woman spat suddenly. Her phlegm struck the Commander in the face. 

He stepped back, withdrew the handkerchief from his pocket. “Two strikes,” he said. He wiped the saliva from his skin. “One face. One torso. No internal damage.”

The Soldier complied. One blow caught her beneath the ribs. Her breath left her sharply. The second blow flicked her head around. She turned her face back. Her flesh was darkening. There was blood at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes returned to the Commander. Angry.

“She will train you to the best of her ability,” the Commander said. He was smiling. It was a false smile. A threat. “She knows the consequences of disobedience.” He indicated points on the wall. The Soldier had already observed the cameras there. “Bear that in mind, Security Chief May.”

Her lips shaped angry words, but the sound that came out was a rasping bark.

The Commander stepped forward. He was not a physically strong man, but the woman was chained and her throat was slim. The Commander exerted sufficient pressure with a finger and thumb to cut off the woman’s air. She didn’t gasp. She only narrowed her dark eyes at him.

“You have no family. No friends. No loved ones,” the Commander said. “We know this. We also know your weakness for protecting children.” His smile was still in place. It was like a blade. “The districts won’t have many to spare, if you remain stubborn.”

The woman’s lips trembled, a muscle in her cheek twitching.

The Commander wiped the blood from her lip with his handkerchief. The woman recoiled from his touch. “You know I’m not bluffing, May.” He turned to the Soldier. “This room will serve as your quarters. If May does not cooperate, you will be signalled. If that occurs, you must ensure that she watches the following projection by whatever means necessary.”

The woman made another strange, gargled sound.

The Commander looked at her. “I trust that is your agreement to be on your best behaviour this time.”

She was still glaring at him, but she nodded.

The Commander smiled in approval. “Good. I’ll leave you to get acquainted.”

The Soldier remained where he stood as the Commander went back to the doors. He watched the woman who was to train him. She was flexing her hands. Readying herself. The Soldier recognised an enemy when he saw one.

The moment the doors closed, sealing them in, the shackles hissed open.

The woman was on him in a heartbeat. She was fast, spinning to kick him hard in the middle of the chest, the impact making him stagger. Another kick followed, but he caught her ankle, twisted. She crashed down, but braced herself on her hands and kicked back hard between his legs. 

The pain ripped through him, but pain was irrelevant. He brought his metal hand down like an axe on her shoulder, knocking her flat. He grabbed her hair and knocked her head hard against the floor. Not dead. Unconscious.

The Soldier stepped back. 

A new trainer. An enemy. There was much to learn.


	23. Chapter 23

The command unit got them out.

Steve didn’t remember much of it. Part of it was the head trauma and blood loss. Part of it was shock. He remembered sitting in the shuttle. He remembered the man who had intervened in his fight with Bucky, the man who had saved his life, kneeling beside him, putting pressure on the wound at his shoulder, and talking at him. He didn’t remember anything that was said to him.

Tasha was in a different shuttle. She was still alive. He knew that much. Badly-wounded and bleeding, but alive. That was something.

Peggy was waiting for them in the landing bay when they reached the base. She took one look at him and called the medics, and the next thing he knew, he was in the med bay again, being patched and stitched. He turned his head and saw Tasha on the next bed. She was pale and hooked up to Barton, getting a transfusion.

“Steve.” 

He turned back. Peggy was sitting beside the bed, and she covered his hand with hers. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what he could say, when his whole world was slipping beneath his feet. He shifted his hand, wrapping his fingers tightly around hers.

“Wilson, the man you brought back with you, he said you were fighting Tasha’s soldier.” Her voice was careful, gentle. “He said you thought it was Bucky.”

Steve flinched. He had to look up at the ceiling, blinking hard. His eyes were burning. “Yeah,” he whispered. “It was.”

Peggy rose and sat down on the edge of the bed. She didn’t ask him if he was sure. She didn’t ask him what made him think that. She, of all people, knew exactly what Pierce and his people were capable of. “He didn’t remember you?”

Steve shook his head tightly. God, he wanted to scream and rage and hit something. His hands were shaking, and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. Peggy made a soft, sympathetic sound, leaning down over him. He struggled up and wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her as he had so many years ago, when the nightmares came.

She stroked his hair, rocking him and crooning gently. She had never given false comfort, which he was grateful for, and she didn’t start now. She didn’t tell him it would be all right and they would be able to make everything better. They had both seen too much to know that was true. 

“I expect,” she murmured quietly, her lips close to his ear, “that this was one of Zola’s designs.”

He nodded. His hands were spread on her back, and he couldn’t help noticing how much thinner she was now. “He likes his experiments.” He shivered, remembering the nights on the table, when he had been beaten and strapped down, and Zola tried to find out just how quickly he healed.

She rubbed the back of his neck in slow circles. “Do you think you could rest?” 

He could only shrug.

Peggy sat back enough to look him in the eyes. “I’ll need to fill in all the details for the others,” she said quietly. “They saw this soldier. They believe he’s the enemy. We’ll have a hard job convincing them otherwise.”

“He’s still Bucky, Peg.” Steve’s throat felt raw. “I don’t give a damn what they believe. He’s Bucky. Pierce just… Pierce did something to him. We just need to get him back. We need to undo it.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything and he knew why. She would never make a promise that she couldn’t keep. She would help him as much as she could, but she could and would never say something that she didn’t believe could be done.

“I should go and brief the commanders,” she finally said, giving his hand a last squeeze. “If you can get some rest, please try to.” Her smile looked as tired as he felt. “We have a long fight ahead of us.”

He laid his head back on the pillow. “Don’t we always.”

In the end, he must have slept, but it was broken by nightmares, and he woke with a start in the quiet darkness of the medical bay. 

“One of those nights.” Tasha’s voice was a hoarse rasp.

Steve sat up, squinting over towards her. She was still hooked up to machines, but she was conscious and looked so much better than the last time he’d seen her. He swung down off the bed, staggering as he came to his feet, and padded over to her bed.

Tasha held out a hand to him, and he took it at once. “You look like hell.”

“You seen a mirror lately?” he countered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

She squeezed his fingers. “I didn’t get beaten on,” she murmured. Her throat sounded so dry, and when he withdrew his hands to fetch her water from the pitcher, she didn’t protest. Steve slipped his arm beneath her shoulder, helping her sit up enough to drink. When she was done, she laid her head on his shoulder. “Heard them talking.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Bucky?”

Steve could feel the tension radiating from her. “You couldn’t have known,” he said quietly. “None of us knew. Everyone… they thought he was killed in the firebombings. Even Peggy-“ Of all the people in the base, he had believed her. She wouldn’t have lied to him about something like that, even if it was to protect him. He pressed his cheek to Tasha’s hair. “We need to get him out of there.”

She was silent so long, he almost thought she had gone to sleep, but when she finally spoke, her voice was brittle. “What if there’s nothing of him left? I worked with him for weeks, Steve. He’s- I don’t think there’s anything left in there that you knew.”

“I can’t believe that.”

She breathed in and out slowly. “You know what Zola was capable of. You know what he did to us, and he had limits on him then.”

It wasn’t helping, but he knew that was her point. Zola was a sadist of the worst kind. He only limited the damage he could do to them because they were useful to Pierce, but the pain he could inflict, he did with pleasure.

“I know.” He rose from the bed, setting her back against the pillows. “Thanks, Tasha.”

“For what?” He touched the bandages that covered her wound, and she smiled faintly at him. “I didn’t get out just to see you full of holes.”

“Likewise,” he replied, bending down to kiss her on the brow. “Get some rest.”

She closed her eyes. “You too.”

He tried, but every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Bucky’s face. After two hours, he gave up and slipped out of the medical bay. The smell, the chirp of the machines, the cooler air reminded him of other facilities and other operations he didn’t want to think about.

Most of the halls were quiet, deserted. It was late, he guessed. Most people would be sleeping on the schedule assigned to them. He made his way down the corridors to the mess hall. A few people were always hanging around there, and he needed to see other people right now, a welcome distraction from his thoughts. 

He recognised one of the men sitting at a table, poring over a data screen. It was the man who had stepped into his fight with Bucky, and had saved Steve’s life by doing so. He had to be around the same age as Steve himself, dark-skinned and lean. No small wonder. A lot of people in his district were going short of food these days. 

The man looked up as he approached, frowning. “Hey, man. You sure you should be up?”

Steve lifted his uninjured shoulder in a shrug. “I heal quickly.” He held out a hand. “Steve Rogers.”

The man rose, clasping his hand. “Kinda figured that,” he said. “Not many people running around with a shield these days.” He smiled, quick and bright. “Sam Wilson.” He gestured to the table. “Want to join me?”

Steve sat down gratefully. Yeah, he healed quickly, but he was exhausted. “Sorry you got hauled into this, Sam.”

Sam flicked off the screen he had been reading. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m from the Districts too. I know how bad it gets. We were already arming anyway.”

“You weren’t hurt?”

Sam shook his head. “You’re the one with a bullet in his side and a knife in his shoulder.” He tilted his head, examining Steve. “You know that guy we were fighting?”

Steve exhaled. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Sam only nodded. He didn’t ask for more details and Steve was grateful. “Your people said there’s a place for me here if I want it.” He pushed a bowl over towards Steve. It was half-filled with salted nuts. Steve took a few, rolling them in his palm. “They said they can use a medic.”

“You’re a doctor?”

Sam shook his head. “Emergency rescue,” he replied. “We have enough accidents to need people trained up right.”

Steve smiled wearily. “Yeah. We need those a lot around here as well. You’d never be bored.” He felt himself sway forward and braced a hand on the table. His head was spinning.

Sam studied him. “You need to get some more fluids,” he said. “How about I get you something to drink? You lost a hell of a lot of blood today, and I don’t think I got the upper-body strength to drag your ass back to the med bay if you faint on me.”

Steve nodded, propping his head in his hands. He didn’t know how long Sam was away from the table for, which wasn’t good. He lifted his head when Sam returned, setting down a cup of thick, sweet tea. It had a lot more sweetness to it than Steve was used to. It must have shown on his face.

“Honey,” Sam clarified. 

“Here half a day and already getting favours?”

Sam shrugged. “I just asked. You looked like you needed it and they didn’t say no.”

Steve nodded, looking back down into the cup. He should have stayed in the med bay. He was feeling drawn out and stretched to breaking point, and he had no idea if he would even have the energy to get himself back to the bed. 

“You want some quiet?” Sam offered.

“No. Please.”

Sam, halfway to rising, sat back down. “That bad, huh?”

Steve nodded. “Rough day.” He took another mouthful of the sweetened tea. 

“Get the feeling you have a lot of those as well,” Sam observed. “Your people have been getting the capitol all worked up.”

Steve’s smile was tight, bitter. “About damned time.” He looked over at Sam. “You don’t need to stick around here. Things are only going to get worse from here on in. We can get you back to your district.”

Sam was silent for a moment, then opened up the screen he had been examining. He pushed it over to Steve. It was footage from Seven, near the building where Steve had fought Bucky. A lot of it was still burning, and reduced to rubble.

“That’s my home,” Sam said. “The way I see it, I have a choice of two war zones. Right now, there’s nowhere that’s safe for any of us. The least I can do is make myself useful. I got my medical training, and I’ve got skills that you might be able to make use of.”

Steve looked back across at him. “This isn’t going to be an easy fight.”

Sam smiled crookedly. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He nodded to Steve’s drink. “You finish up and I’ll get you back to the med bay. Way you’re talking, you’re going to need your strength.”


End file.
